


What's One More Indulgence?

by HigherMagic



Series: Challenges of the Month [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Bathroom Sex, Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Caning, Chastity Device, Consensual Somnophilia, Creampie, Crying, Cutting, Daddy Kink, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom Will Graham, Dom/sub, Drugs, Facials, Fear Play, Fisting, Flogging, Frottage, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Impact Play, In Public, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Massage, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Morning Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Operas, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Painplay, Phone Sex, Porn Video, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Safewords, Scarification, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Spanking, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Sub Will Graham, Switching, Temperature Play, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Toys, Vibrators, Wax Play, Will Graham is a Cannibal, kinksmas 2018, sex while high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 49,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Kinksmas 2018.





	1. Sensory Deprivation

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober was so much fun I decided to do it again for December! Each chapter title will be the kink involved. Tags added as appropriate.
> 
> This takes place in the same 'verse as "Now, What Should We Do Next?" so there will be references to marriage proposals, the 'mylimasis' Hannibal carved into Will (sometimes), and other kinky shit they did in that last month. Enjoy!

There is music – violins, mostly, with the soft sound of a piano passing between one headphone and the other. It makes him sway, absently, wanting to follow the lull and beat of the music, and as it plays, each note feels as a weight, adding to his shoulders, making him sag, and sigh, as another pound of nothingness settles itself along the back of his neck.

There is darkness, a blindfold around his eyes, obscuring his vision and making sure not even a peak of light passes through. Normally he would rebel against anything that blocked his eyes like this, but it has been a long time since he was afraid of the dark and it is not fear, now, that makes his heart race and his breaths uneven.

His hands are bound in front of him with soft, silken cloth. Not ropes, not this time – Hannibal said he wanted to be gentle with Will, wanted to let him float, and be free, and Will has found himself easing into it with surprising grace, for with Hannibal, he trusts, and is relaxed and content.

A gentle touch settles at his chin and Will sucks in a breath, lifting his head. The cool, hard rim of a glass pushes to his lower lip, and he parts his jaws, allowing the small sip of water Hannibal feeds him to wet his tongue. The glass pulls away, though the touch lingers, strong fingers spreading out to wrap around his throat and keep his head upright.

He gasps, and slackens his jaw when he feels another pressure, this one blunt, warm, soft. He smiles, just briefly, and his lashes flutter behind his blindfold as Hannibal feeds Will his cock. He presses his tongue flat along the thick vein, accepting each inch as it's pushed into his mouth. He sighs through his nose, wet and loose, his fingers curling so he doesn't reach up and grab.

Hannibal's hand slides to his hair, fisting tight. Will cannot hear him over the rush of the music and he aches, desperately, to hear his soft sounds of pleasure. Hannibal has become more vocal over their time together, learning that Will responds much more enthusiastically to every groan, every snarl, every shuddered exhale he can pull from Hannibal. He delights in the shatter-crack of his control, revels in the sounds Hannibal makes when he starts to lose himself, either inside of Will, or under him.

Hannibal presses onward, his hand in Will's hair meaning he can't pull away as Hannibal's thick cock pushes into his mouth, past his gag reflex, sits heavy in his throat. He breathes in, his nose full of the scent of Hannibal, tongue able to slide out and lick at the base of him. He can feel Hannibal's cock twitch and he blinks, tearing up in reflex, swallowing harshly as his throat starts to spasm in protest.

Hannibal holds him there, another second, two, then he pulls back and all the way out. Will gasps, groaning, saliva dripping down his chin because he can't close his lips fast enough – but then Hannibal's other thumb is there, hooking into the corner of his mouth, keeping him open, and Will has just enough time to take in another breath before Hannibal's cock is between his lips again, pushing inside.

He growls softly, slackens his jaw again as Hannibal fucks in deeply. His lips are already swollen and sore, his throat aching, but Hannibal doesn't force him to take it all again. He starts a slow, steady rhythm, one hand holding Will's head still, the other hooked in his mouth to be sure he can't form a tight seal, and he can feel the warm, tacky cling of saliva running down his face, smeared along his cheeks and jaw by Hannibal's hand.

Hannibal's rhythm is slow, rocking like the music filling Will's head, and he whines, aches, wishes instead he was hearing Hannibal's deep sighs, his eager snarls, the stutter-stall of his breath when Will licks over the head of his cock in a rough swipe whenever he's allowed.

He's sure Hannibal is talking, because Hannibal can't not say anything when Will is on his knees. Will aches to hear, wants to know what Hannibal is thinking, what he's saying – he's sure Hannibal is showering praise on him, or maybe saying more vulgar things that he knows Will wouldn't ask for otherwise.

But no, that's not Hannibal.

He whines, swallowing harshly when Hannibal pulls his cock out again. He cups Will's jaw with both hands and pulls him into a gentle kiss, and Will's mouth is sensitive enough that it sends a jolt of electricity straight down his spine. Every touch from Hannibal burns him, brands him, and he's sure he's red wherever Hannibal's hand has landed.

Hannibal kisses him again, licking into his mouth, and Will shivers, drinking down his lover's sated moan, Hannibal's fingers flexing across his neck, sliding up into his hair. Then, he feels a tug, and the headphones fall away, and Will can hear. He gasps, and a shiver runs down his spine when he hears Hannibal's growl, feels his lips on Will's heated cheek.

"You are exquisite," Hannibal purrs, and Will flushes darkly, his fingers curling in pleasure. He smiles, and feels Hannibal's fingers trace the curve of it, into the bulge of his cheek. It was Will's turn to sit in the chair, this time, and he has been silent and obedient for the whole night, as Hannibal restrained him and made him kneel in the middle of their bedroom.

Hannibal kisses him again, deep and forceful, and pushes at Will's shoulders, sends him backwards, prowls over him to lie flat on his back, his bound arms reaching up and hands flattening on Hannibal's bare chest. Will moans, arching into Hannibal's weight, trembling at the touch on the nape of his neck, Hannibal's large hand flattening down his warm flank, to his hip. He spreads his legs and cries out when Hannibal grinds between them, their cocks slicking along each other, Hannibal's wet from Will's mouth, Will's leaking at the tip.

The rule of the chair is silence, so Will can merely cling, and beg with his body, dig his heels to the floor and lift his hips to put more pressure between their stomachs. He gasps when Hannibal growls, teeth at his neck, and Hannibal bites down.

It is a powerful, sensual thing, to feel Hannibal on top of him like this, and after so long in silence and darkness and lacking touch, every nerve ending is alight, screaming with desperation for more. His shoulders dig into the hard wood of the floor, his fingers flex weakly against Hannibal's chest. The drag of Hannibal's hips between his thighs chafes, almost, burns his sensitive skin.

Will's lips part around a heavy gasp as Hannibal sucks on his neck, a bright spot of pain blooming, forming a bruise, his pulse rushing heavily against Hannibal's dangerous teeth as though eager to spill for him. "Ah, _hn_ ," he gasps, pawing at Hannibal frantically as Hannibal's hand slides down his hip, then his fingers wrap around both of them, stroking tight and quick.

Hannibal laughs, the sound warm and low and like caramel on Will's tender flesh. He parts his jaws from Will's neck and kisses the heated skin, nuzzles Will's jaw, kisses there too as Will's stomach sinks in, his thighs tensed and lifting in preparation for his orgasm.

"Are you going to come for me, darling?" Hannibal whispers, his teeth at Will's ear, and Will nods frantically, and wishes he could _see_. He loves the sight of Hannibal when he's close, loves watching his jaw tense, his upper lip curl back. Loves seeing the red-dark of his iris before his lashes lower and he goes still. Hannibal is sweating, burning hot above him, and Will is close.

Hannibal growls, lets go of his own cock and focuses solely on Will's, swiping his thumb over his leaking slit, his palm tight and smooth as he touches Will and brings him closer. His other hand wraps in Will's hair and tugs hard enough that he arches back, baring his neck.

"That's it," he whispers, as shaken as Will feels. He kisses Will's thundering pulse, edges his teeth, and says, "Come for me, my sweet boy. Show me how good it feels when I touch you."

Will moans, loud and long, clawing at Hannibal's chest with his bound hands as he feels that final _thing_ give, arousal uncoiling in his stomach and swooping down, sudden and sharp. He comes with Hannibal's teeth in his throat, cries out, high-pitched and trembling, his cock spilling thickly over Hannibal's hand and between their bellies.

Hannibal growls, and lets go of him, touching himself now instead. Will shivers at the brush of his knuckles along his sensitive flesh and then he whimpers as Hannibal rolls him onto his side, pushes his thigh up to expose his hole. Hannibal plants a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down, and uses the slick of Will's seed to wet the head of his cock and pushes in, just enough that Will's body aches sharply in protest. He doesn't fuck in all the way, wouldn't risk harming Will like that, but it's enough – he goes still, grunting loudly, and strokes the rest of his cock as he floods Will's ass, filling him up.

Will relaxes, wincing at his hip and shoulder dig into the unforgiving floor, and Hannibal's weight presses him down, keeps him hobbled and still as he finishes. Hannibal growls, fingers flexing on Will's shoulder, and he pushes in just another inch, until Will sucks in a breath, instinctively clamping down to warn him from trying to press deeper.

That earns another laugh, and Hannibal pulls out. Will sighs, shivering as he feels Hannibal's come leaking out of him, the tender, raw stretch of his muscles trying desperately to keep it in. Hannibal slides up next to him and Will feels another tug, and then the blindfold is removed and he blinks, rapidly, as his eyes adjust to the low light.

Hannibal covers him, tilts his head up with his dirty hand and kisses Will deeply. He pulls back with a smile, flushed and sated, and Will hums, letting Hannibal pull him upright and carefully unwind the soft silk from around his wrists and forearms.

When he's finished, he kisses Will's wrists, and presses their foreheads together. "Thank you for indulging me, darling," he breathes, and Will smiles, lifting his chin for another kiss that Hannibal eagerly grants him. He thumbs, tender and gentle, on the slight redness around Will's wrists.

Will clears his throat, swallows, and lets his head rest on Hannibal's shoulder as Hannibal pets him, soothing his tremors and calming the fire-edged sharpness of his oversensitive skin. Hannibal doesn't take out the chair nearly as often as Will does, and as a result, after the fact, he is much softer and grateful with his touches, and liberal with his praise.

Hannibal kisses his flushed cheek, embraces him gently, and then pulls them both to their feet. Will gives a meek sound of protest, eyeing the stain on the floor. Hannibal follows his gaze, and grins at him, unrepentant.

"Let me draw you a bath," he says. "And you can relax while I clean up."

Will hums again, and nods in acceptance. But not before he gets one more kiss.


	2. Mirrors

The mirror is large, almost as tall as Hannibal, angled against the wall. The frame is black, and plain, certainly not expensive or lavish. He knows that's not the point, and while Will is prone to the occasional splurge for them both, he doesn't go out of his way to spend a lot of money on something that is purely functional.

Will adjusts the mirror, a satisfied smile on his face as he looks into the reflection, his eyes meeting Hannibal's, before he turns. He slides his hands into his pockets, hips canted, weight on one leg, and lifts his chin.

"Come here," he says.

Hannibal smiles, and stands, going to him. Will's eyes are dark with consideration, like Hannibal is yet another piece of art adorning the walls, set there purely for Will's perusal and assessment. Hannibal is no stranger to admiration or praise, but when it's received from Will, his chest grows tight and warm, his hands shake finely, eager to do whatever it is Will wants of him to earn more of it.

Will circles him, and though Hannibal turns his head to follow his path, he doesn't move otherwise. Will sighs, his hands sliding out of his pockets to run across Hannibal's shoulders, down his spine, settling on his hips.

Will's lips touch his neck, and he growls; "Look at me."

Hannibal swallows, and sets his sight forward, and meets Will's eyes in their reflection. Will's smile is wide, now, showing teeth, his lashes lowering as his hands slide in and settle over Hannibal's stomach. He's wearing red, today, and the span of Will's pale hands stands out starkly against the fabric. Will's fingers dip, tugging his shirt free from his suit pants and belt, letting the garment hang loosely down his thighs.

Then, Will's hands settle on his hips again, and he hooks his chin over Hannibal's shoulder and gives him a wide, off-kilter smile. "Undress for me."

Hannibal nods, unbuttoning his cuffs, first, before he starts at the buttons on his shirt. He undoes them quickly, baring his chest, and Will takes his shirt when he's done, pulling it off and tossing it into a haphazard pile just past what the mirror's reflection shows. Hannibal huffs in soft protest and receives a raised brow and wide smile in answer.

Will sighs, arms cupped under Hannibal's, nails curling and dragging through his chest hair, down to his stomach. "Belt, next," he growls.

Hannibal obeys, unhooking it and pulling it free. Will takes it from him again, gives it the same treatment. Hannibal makes to undo his suit pants but Will's hands cover his own, stopping him.

"Not until I say," Will says, with a sharp nip to Hannibal's neck. Hannibal shivers, swallowing, and lets his hands fall to his sides.

Will sighs, lashes lowering, and he leans in and presses his nose to Hannibal's bared neck, taking in a deep inhale. Hannibal's lips twitch, watching him do it, and then one of Will's hands slides down his stomach again and dips, without ceremony or hesitance, under the waistband and wraps around Hannibal's cock below his underwear.

Hannibal sucks in a breath, growling, nostrils flaring as he fights to keep still, not to thrust instinctively into Will's warm hand. The calluses on his fingertips drag feather-light over the shaft, a small tease of roughness when contrasted against the soft drag of his fingers, the give in his palm. This isn't the hand he puts his gun in.

Will's free hand is still over his heart, and suddenly tightens, like he's physically yanking Hannibal away from his thoughts and into the here and now. "Don't wander," he says, and Hannibal smiles, always delighted when Will shows that his keen eyes never close – he sees everything, in a way others seldom have.

Will lets out a harsh, low sound, breathier than a snarl, though it has teeth, which he sets to Hannibal's shoulder, his eyes dark and feral in their reflection. "You're so fucking perfect," he breathes, tightening his hand as Hannibal starts to fill, his cock hardening under Will's touch and the muscle memory of having his lover pressed so tightly to his back. Will is a master of wielding Hannibal now, and this is no different.

He smiles, and shivers when Will says, "Too perfect." He bites down, tightens his hand further, just edging the line of pain, his other hand finding Hannibal's nipple and giving it a light, almost absent pinch. "I wanna mark you up."

Hannibal's fingers clench, and he lifts his chin and meets Will's eyes, his smile wide. "I won't stop you."

Will answers his grin, wolfish and sharp. "Mm. Later," he purrs, and presses a gentle kiss over the bite of his teeth. He fits against Hannibal nicely, his cock an obvious hard line against the back of Hannibal's thigh, his breathes heavy so that his chest pushes into Hannibal's back with every inhale. "I wanna get a nice before and after of you."

His voice is low, and promising, and Hannibal shivers.

Will kisses his neck again. "Unbutton and unzip your pants," he commands, and Hannibal obeys, his eyes never leaving Will's in the mirror. Without his belt, they sag at his hips, and Will smiles, kissing Hannibal's shoulder. He wraps his hand around Hannibal's cock and pulls it free from the band of his underwear, the head a dark pink and shining with precum.

Will pushes his clothes down, just enough to reveal his cock and the tops of his thighs. He growls, rutting his hips against Hannibal's thigh, and starts stroking again, his other hand sliding up to rest over Hannibal's collarbones. Hannibal watches, enthralled with the slide of his cock behind Will's white knuckles, the sharp bulge of veins and tendons in the back of his hand as he works Hannibal over.

Will smiles, nuzzling Hannibal's neck. "I love watching you like this," he growls, twisting his wrist to make Hannibal gasp. He lifts his chin, eyes wanting to close, to give himself over to Will's touch, but he forces himself to keep them open, to watch. There's a flush starting on his neck, spreading down his chest that matches the darkening red of his cock, and a sheen of sweat on his brow. He licks his lips and tastes salt.

"You behave differently, when you're not the one in control," Will murmurs, his voice soft and low. Almost absent, like Hannibal might not even be here, and that sends a hot clench down his spine as he meets Will's dark eyes, and swallows. "Something…volcanic. Just waiting to erupt."

Hannibal shivers, upper lip lifting when Will swipes a hand through the slick on the head of his cock, using it to wet his hand. He tightens his grip and pinches Hannibal's nipple again, gently, his teeth returning to Hannibal's neck. He licks over the flexing tendon, sighing in pleasure.

"Does that please you, darling?" Hannibal breathes, as Will's hips roll again, like he wants nothing more than to sink inside Hannibal. An image flashes behind his eyes, of Will taking advantage of his undressed state, of bending him against the mirror and fucking him until the surface fogs and grows wet with them.

As if sensing his thoughts, Will growls, and bites down. The sharp flare of pain makes Hannibal growl, his cock twitching, stomach sinking in. The redness of his skin has started to stain his whole chest, now, working down to his stomach.

"You know it does," Will replies. "But you like that, don't you? Pleasing me."

"Of course," Hannibal whispers hoarsely.

Will smiles, lifts his eyes and meets Hannibal's in the mirror. "You know what would _really_ please me?" he asks, and he's growling again, rasping the words into Hannibal's ear, raising goose bumps on his neck and down his arms.

Hannibal swallows. "Tell me."

Will's hand pushes down, punishingly tight around his cock, and pulls back up. "I want you to make a mess all over this mirror," he snarls, his eyes flashing with anticipation. His free hand releases Hannibal's nipple, flattens on the back of his neck and pushes, until Hannibal bends forward and his hands come up and grip tightly on either side of the frame. "And I want you to watch yourself when you do it."

Hannibal growls, but the way he's positioned, he can't look anywhere but his own face, or his cock as Will continues to stroke him. He's going faster, now, and Hannibal hears Will spit on his fingers, getting them slick, before he reaches between Hannibal's thighs and presses insistently along his perineum, putting pressure there.

Will's teeth dig into his shoulder, the only part of him visible is the top of his wild hair. "Come on, baby," he whispers, and Hannibal's stomach sinks in, his thighs shake, as Will twists his wrists and pays more attention to the head of his cock. Hannibal gasps, knuckles whitening around the frame hard enough for it to creak in protest, his forehead falling against the cool glass as Will slicks his hand up his perineum, thumb dragging dry over his rim.

Will bites down on his shoulder again, snarling low, and jerks Hannibal's cock harshly as he starts to come. Not all of it lands on the mirror, some dripping down to stain the carpet or Hannibal's clothes, but when he opens his eyes he sees an impressive set of streaks, milky-white seed leaking down like rainwater on a window. Will lets go of his cock, wrapping a strong arm around him to keep him upright as he sags, groaning in pleasure, his arms and legs shaking as he watches the glowing puddle forming on the bottom of the frame.

Will hauls him upright, turns him and kisses him breathlessly, teeth in his lower lip. He lunges, and Hannibal's back collides with the mirror, hard enough that he hears a hard _crack_.

Will freezes, and huffs a laugh, drawing him away. He checks Hannibal's shoulder, first, finding no shard or blood in it, and looks to the mirror. There is a single line, stretching from about a foot down on the side to the top, in the middle. Both of Will's reflections grin at Hannibal.

"Perfect," he sighs, and Hannibal laughs, shaking his head and glad, once again, that Will didn't feel the need to splurge on anything fancy. Will kisses him, a hand around his nape, the other dragging light nails down his sweat-damp stomach.

Hannibal smiles, cupping his face and drawing him in for a deep kiss. "Would you like me to clean that up?" he asks, nodding to the mirror. "Or, perhaps, there is another way I can please you tonight?"

Will's eyes flash, his smile wide and promising. "The mirror can wait," he says, and wraps his fingers in Hannibal's belt loops, tugging him towards the bed. "I have plans for you."

Hannibal laughs, letting Will kiss him, push him onto the bed, and eagerly reaches up when Will prowls over him and settles on his thighs. "Yes, I figured as much."


	3. Lingerie

Alana and Margot stayed the night after being invited to dinner, the four of them much more comfortable with each other since Margot's first session with Will – an event they have repeated sparingly, but enough that he thinks she is quite adept in the task of beating Will until he bruises and cries, now. Last night had simply been dinner, friends catching up and commiserating over the final death throes of autumn as it succumbed to winter.

Hannibal is in the guest bathroom, gathering the used towels and straightening the set of guest toiletries, and he exits, towels in hand, and passes by the spare bedroom, only to pause when he sees Will standing in the middle of it. He had offered to strip the bed to save Hannibal's nose, and indeed, the sheets are piled at one end, the pillowcases bared and the white mattress showing.

Hannibal tilts his head and lets out a soft noise to get Will's attention. Will's head snaps up, and he flushes deeply – a curious reaction. Hannibal had quite thought they were long-past the point of shame, that Will's sense of decency had been torn away from him around the same time as his moral compass.

Will's hands are cradled against his chest, like he's holding something, and his shoulders curl up and roll in defense, as if afraid that Hannibal is going to take it from him. It's a childish, insecure action, and Hannibal's curiosity is suddenly too sharp to ignore. He leaves the towels in a pile outside the door and enters the bedroom.

Will doesn't flinch from him, nor does he pull away. His expression is one of soft resignation, because once Hannibal has him in his sights, there's no point fleeing. A chase is only a chase when there's a chance of escape.

Hannibal circles him, and drops his eyes to see the thin pair of stockings in his hands, balled up but stretched over Will's knuckles, tight enough to turn the black material grey and show the lines of his fingers through them.

Will clears his throat. "They're Margot's," he says, and Hannibal nods, recalling that while Alana's legs had been covered with flesh-colored tights beneath her long skirt, Margot's had been black. Hannibal does not reach to touch them, for the way Will is holding them feels possessive, almost.

"Would you like me to call Alana and inform her they left these behind?" he asks, testing the water with a toe though he needs no test to see Will's oceans are choppy and murky. Will's eyes, dark as they are, give nothing away, which is an uncomfortable realization, for Hannibal has never had any trouble reading Will.

Will swallows, shows his teeth. He shakes his head. "They were in the trash," he says, just as quietly. "There's a hole in them. See?" He twists his hands, wrapping one of the legs around his wrist, tight enough to whiten the skin, and then fits his thumb through a hole at the ankle. It stretches to accommodate the press of his thumb and Will's eyes go black. "They meant to leave them behind."

Hannibal nods. He brings one hand up, gently cradling Will's bared forearm. He doesn't make to remove the nylon stocking, doesn't threaten Will with taking away this shiny new toy that he has between his jaws. Will's eyes snap up, his cheeks a deep red, and he presses his lips together.

Hannibal tilts his head, lowers his lashes. Says, very gently; "Do you like how they feel?"

Will's head jerks in a sharp nod.

"Are you thinking about how they'd feel on Margot?"

Will blinks, frowning.

"On Alana?"

Will puffs out a breath, and shakes his head.

Hannibal hums, considers. His other hand touches, gently, at Will's hip. "One of us, then?"

Will swallows harshly, twisting the stockings around his wrist again, until it resembles one of the soft cuffs they sometimes use when teasing, not restraint, is the goal. His white knuckles show through the nylon and he licks his lips – just one, single swipe of his tongue.

"I don't want to…wear them," he says, and frowns. His eyes shift, not restless, not quite, but like he's trying to solve a puzzle without moving a single piece. Hannibal tilts his head again, touches gently at Will's ear, the red ridge of it, and Will's lashes flutter, his jaw goes slack. "I don't want you to wear them, either. I just…like the feel of them."

He tugs, jaw clenching when the hole around his thumb rips a little more, creating a ladder down to his wrist. His pupils are wide in his eye, almost no blue left to them, and Hannibal can smell the spice of his arousal, though, when he looks down, Will isn't hard enough to make an obvious bulge in his pajama pants.

He then, finally, slides the hand on Will's forearm up, to cover the wrap of stocking around his wrist, his other hand fisting tight in Will's hair to stop him flinching away, or lunging forward. He digs his nails into the stocking and tugs, and Will sucks in a harsh breath through his nose, lashes fluttering, as Hannibal unwraps it from around his wrist.

"Perhaps," he says evenly, "you would not object to coming out with me, today."

Will blinks at him, and frowns.

"There is a rather marvelous boutique near my tailor, that has an impressive display of lingerie," Hannibal adds. "Satin, silk…" He stretches the stocking out wide and Will _whimpers_ when he hears it tear, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly when Hannibal smiles at him, and wraps it around the back of his neck like he's going to tie Will's tie with it.

He tugs on each end, pulls Will into a kiss, and Will's breath stutters and he lets out a sweet, ragged moan. He clutches at Hannibal's hands, lacing their fingers together and around the nylon, and Hannibal smiles against his mouth, pulls him closer and lets his covered knuckles drag over Will's jaw.

Will shivers, arching closer, warm and eager in his arms.

"What do you say?"

Will swallows, presses his lips together, and meets Hannibal's gaze with a considering look. His brow arches. "We're not buying anything," he says.

"Certainly not," Hannibal replies, grinning as he drags the stocking across the back of Will's neck, back and forth, then crosses his wrists and pulls it tight. Will sucks in a breath, chin lifting, the flush on his cheeks spreading down quickly to disappear below the collar of his shirt. "Just perusing the wares."

He slackens the makeshift collar and Will breathes out, lips parted. He bites his lower lip and growls, "Asshole."

Hannibal smiles, and lets the stocking come free, balled up in his fist again. He leans in, cups his free hand under Will's chin, knuckles touching the soft place behind bone, and he tilts Will's face up. He leans in, and kisses the corner of Will's mouth, a soft huff of pleasure stuck in his throat when Will whines, and arches forward, and he is hard, now. It's gratifying to know that, still, Hannibal is the one who kicks him into high gear – not stockings or gags or collars. _Hannibal_.

He pulls back, and smiles at the indignant little huff Will lets out. He takes Will by the hair again, tugs his head to one side and puts his teeth at Will's ear. "Turn around, darling."

Will shivers, and obeys, turning in Hannibal's arms so his back presses, warm and broad. Hannibal's lips brush his pink neck, eliciting another shiver, and he lets go of Will's hair to wrap around his chest instead, tugging up his shirt until Will's fingers twitch, then lower, pulling it up and helping Hannibal expose his chest.

Hannibal smiles, pleased at his lover's eagerness, but merely kisses him and settles his hand over Will's stomach. He has the stockings still wrapped around the knuckles of his other hand, and he slides them, brazen and assured, into the front of Will's pajama pants, below his underwear, to wrap around his hard cock.

Will gasps at the sensation, head tipping back, eyes closed as Hannibal slides the soft fabric around Will's cock, gripping him tightly. He smiles, crushing Will close to him, and presses his nose to Will's neck.

"It's not the sensation you enjoy," he says darkly. Will's eyes open, just a fraction – he can't keep them so, and they fall under the weight of his arousal soon enough. "If it were, you would have reacted this way to the silk clothes I dress you in, or the lace tablecloth, or something else." Will swallows, tenses.

Gasps; "Alright, mind reader, what do I enjoy about it?"

Hannibal shows his teeth, smile wolfish, and nips at Will's reddened ear. "It is a strange dichotomy, is it not?" he whispers, hearing Will's impatient huff of breath. "A fine piece of clothing, worn by a beautiful woman. Wrapped around my hand, both of us making it dirty."

Will is trembling, hands flexing by his sides. "If it's not the sensation you enjoy, nor the fact that it was a woman wearing them, and it is not pleasure at the idea of one of us wearing them that makes you react this way, then I must conclude…" He pauses, and breathes in deep, loving the scent of spiced, deep arousal in Will, "That you simply relish the act of destroying something. Of bringing me down with you as we dirty this pretty thing with your filthy seed."

Will's breath hitches. His head turns in and he lets out a soft, unhappy growl. "'Filthy', huh?" he demands, but his cock is heavy and hard in Hannibal's grip, leaking onto the spread of soft nylon around his knuckles and wedged tight between his palm and Will's sensitive skin.

Hannibal turns his head, kisses him, lets Will's neck feel his teeth. "Your behavior is scandalous, Will," he says, and Will shivers again, stomach tensing up tightly under Hannibal's free hand. "Here you are, my sweet, lovely boy -."

"What happened to 'filthy'?" Will says, his voice little more than a whisper now. Because he knows backtalk gets him bites – hook, line, sinker. Hannibal growls and presses his teeth to Will's thrumming pulse and feels every muscle in him tighten.

"Depraved," Hannibal growls to his neck. He twists his hand, tightens it, gives the head of Will's cock a few purposeful tugs just to feel Will sag, reaching back for him blindly, bracing himself on Hannibal's thighs. "You like this because they're not yours, are they, Will? You get to do as you please and no one is the wiser."

Will's shoulders tighten, his breath hitches. His head tips back again, giving Hannibal more access to his neck.

Hannibal smiles, and hooks his chin over Will's shoulder, watching the stretch of black-grey over his hand, over Will's cock. The slick of his precum and sweat has made the material damp and delicate, and he slowly pulls his hand away, purring when Will whines.

"Hush, darling," he says, and Will gasps, tilts his head down and stares wide-eyed at his cock as Hannibal stretches the stocking until he finds the hole where Will put his thumb. The opens the other end and, slowly, slides it down Will's cock, creating a makeshift sheath, only a slip of red-wet flesh visible through the hole Will made. The ladder rip gives them both another delicious glimpse of Will's cock, the edges of it fraying.

Will is a trembling, panting mess in his arms, and then he whimpers when Hannibal wraps a hand around him again. The nylon makes it harder to stroke him, but the extra tightness and sensation makes him wild. When Hannibal curls his fingers and rips through the ladder tear, he sobs, only held up now by Hannibal's other arm around his chest.

"Please," he says, panting. "Please."

Hannibal smiles, and allows Will, finally, to feel his own body pressed tight. Lets Will feel that he, too, is not unaffected by the sight of Will, brought so low by something so simple. A delightful deviance – they both, it seems, get off on the idea of keeping secrets, of succumbing to something so basely rude as destroying property that is not theirs to destroy.

Will shivers and arches into him, desperately rutting his ass against Hannibal's erection, and he comes when Hannibal bites him, and tugs on the end of the stocking, pulling it half-way off Will's cock and fisting the end so that his come pools in the fabric. It darkens immediately in an impressive stain, and Will trembles, his eyes clenched tightly shut as Hannibal holds him, until his knees regain their strength.

He turns Will in his arms, nudges Will's jaw with his nose until Will lifts his eyes. He waits until Will's eyes clear, until there is some blue in his iris, before he says, "You have nothing to be ashamed of." Will blinks at him, licks his lower lip, and Hannibal smiles and drops his gaze.

He slowly peels the soaked, ruined piece of fabric off of Will's softening cock, and Will groans, wincing at the slow-chafe of wet fabric on sensitive skin. Then, unable to help himself, Hannibal lifts the balled-up, soaked stocking to his nose and breathes in deeply, like he might scent a glass of wine.

"Fuck," Will breathes, his eyes wide. Hannibal meets his gaze steadily, and then turns and discards the stocking in the trash can by the bedside table. When he looks at Will, he finds Will's eyes on the little bucket, almost wistful.

Hannibal cups his face, gratified when Will's eyes snap to him immediately, soiled clothing forgotten. Will's lips part and he lunges forward with enough suddenness and force that Hannibal stumbles back. But he recovers quickly, sighing with pleasure when Will licks into his mouth, when he clutches at Hannibal with a desperation Hannibal rarely gets to see.

He pulls back when they must breathe, and huffs a sheepish laugh, wiping a hand over his split-slick mouth. "Can I convince you to stay in with me today, instead?" he asks.

Hannibal nods, more than happy to indulge. "Of course. The boutique can wait."

Will fixes him with a look, and sighs, and shakes his head. "It really wasn't about…that," he says, pressing his lips together. He drops his eyes, almost absently registering that his pajama pants are still around his thighs. He flushes, and pulls them up, covering his spent cock. "And it didn't matter that they were Margot's. I'm not…. It's not like that."

Hannibal nods. He supposes Will's reaction to them, his arousal at fucking into a pair of discarded women's underwear, could certainly be taken a way Will would rather it not be taken.

"You liked that I caught you 'misbehaving'," he says, and Will's eyes flash up to him, but he swallows, and nods. "Doing something that, regardless of the situation and those involved, was implicitly disgraceful." He smiles. "And dragging me down into your rudeness."

Will blushes, sets his teeth on edge and manages a slight, rueful smile – not ashamed of the truth of the matter, merely how Hannibal chose to phrase it. "Yeah, I guess."

"Will, darling, if there is one thing I have learned in this life, it's that a little indulgence never hurt anyone." At that, Will's smile widens, and he rolls his eyes. "Now, get on your knees."

Will blinks at him, eyes sharpening, lips parting. He rakes his eyes up and down and then back up, meets Hannibal's, and dips his head. He kneels slowly, hands shaking, lifts his eyes again in silent question.

Hannibal smiles, steps between his knees and kicks them out to give him room to stand. Will settles easily, sighing and weak at the neck as Hannibal cradles his skull and wraps gentle fingers through his hair. Fingers that will, eventually, grow rough and tug.

"Look at me," he whispers, and Will's eyes lift, soft and sweet and full of adoration. Will's expression is open, utterly guileless, eager to please.

Will nods, once, slowly, though Hannibal asked no question. Perhaps his eyes said enough. "It didn't matter who they belonged to," he breathes, warm over the outline of Hannibal's cock in his clothes. He leans in, nuzzles, and Hannibal growls. "Just that they weren't ours. The same things that excite me drive you to jealousy." He looks up again, offers a rakish smile. "Which just excites me more."

"You certainly have the advantage," Hannibal says, quiet and groaning as Will tugs on his sleep pants, baring the waistband of his underwear. Will merely reaches through the hole, pulls Hannibal's erection out, kisses wide and warm along the shaft. "It's a good thing I enjoy indulging you so much."

"Hannibal," Will breathes, and Hannibal looks down, meets his lover's dark, beautiful eyes. Sees something ravenous in Will, the same creature that snarls at him and shakes for him in equal measure. This time he is shaking, and Will swallows, luring Hannibal's fingers to his cheek like a magnetized piece of iron to his molten core. Will turns, nuzzles Hannibal's palm – his dirty one, smeared damply with Will's seed – and breathes deep.

He looks up, up, and Hannibal smiles. He knots his free hand in Will's hair, tugs until Will's lips part and his lashes lower, and Hannibal tightens his other hand on Will's jaw, digs in until Will's mouth spreads wider, and pushes his cock deep into Will's mouth in one smooth thrust. Will chokes, moans loudly, and clutches at Hannibal's clothes to stop him pulling back at the sound.

"I know, darling," Hannibal whispers. Will shivers, swallows, and whines when Hannibal pulls back, only to rock deep into his mouth again, and Will's shoulders go abruptly lax, his neck weak, as he lets Hannibal fuck his mouth in earnest. Hannibal doesn't hold back, and he doesn't force himself to last longer than he needs to make sure Will's throat is properly ruined.

He cradles Will's skull and goes still, grunting as he comes inside Will's sweet mouth. He holds him there a moment longer, just to feel the spasm of Will's muscles around his cockhead, and then he pulls out with a gasp. Will chases him, fixes his clothes and paws his way up Hannibal's chest until they're both standing, and Will kisses him, sharing his taste.

Hannibal allows it to linger, indulging Will's subconscious need to appease him, even when Hannibal treats him gently. He cradles Will close and walks them back, to the stripped guest bed, and sits on it, letting Will settle in his lap, across his thighs.

Will shivers, presses his lips together, touches their foreheads. Hannibal smiles, petting up his back. "I love you very much, Will," he says. Will swallows, manages a small smile, and kisses him blind.

"I love you too."

"If you'd like to experiment, I'm open to it," Hannibal says. "But, if owning the material defeats the purpose, if it's the act of forcing yourself on someone else's property, and the secrecy…"

Will shakes his head, and sighs, but finally opens his eyes and rears back so their gazes can meet. He folds his fingers through Hannibal's hair, petting gently, and sighs, again, through his nose. "I don't know," he murmurs, says it simply. Honestly.

Hannibal smiles, and lifts his chin to kiss Will, chaste and slow. "It will be a fun experiment, then."

Will huffs a laugh, but his eyes are bright, and he nods, leaning in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took forever, lol, can you tell I don't write lingerie kink like...ever?


	4. Reunion Sex

Will knows, as soon as Hannibal comes home, that he needs to be given space. But sometimes when Hannibal is in that kind of mood, he doesn't take Will avoiding him well. Sees it as rejection, as fear – Will would never show fear, not unless it was part of the game they're playing, but he also knows what kind of monster Hannibal is, knows about it intimately, and Hannibal is very sensitive and prickly to the idea that Will's love for him would ever wane because of it.

It is a dance Will knows intimately, and well. He is there, silently, with a bottle of Hannibal's favored red wine, decanted but not poured, yet. When Hannibal comes to it, he does not shy away, but remains still, shoulders lax and head tilted _just_ so, showing the alpha wolf his neck.

Hannibal pauses, on the other side of the kitchen island. Watches Will – watches for a crack in his resolve, watches for a change in his scent that denotes fear. Will counts to thirty, and when Hannibal doesn't move, he reaches for his glass of water and takes a small sip.

Hannibal breaks, too, mimicking unconsciously. He pours as Will cradles his glass, raises it to his lips. Will lets him take a deep inhale of it, lifts his eyes and meets the burn of Hannibal's, brown and that reddish tint that matches the wine. Hannibal drinks when Will does, swallows when Will does, and sets his glass down, as Will does.

Will offers him a smile, and shows his neck again in a gesture as calculated as it is innocuous, rubbing over his throat. "Can I do anything for you?" he asks.

Hannibal's nostrils flare, wide, and his jaw bulges, and Will is sure there are thousands of implications of what, exactly, Will could do for him.

But Hannibal clenches his jaw and looks down at his wine. "I'm afraid, darling, that I won't be good company tonight." Will nods, lashes dipped low in demure acceptance. Hannibal sighs, and drinks again. "Perhaps you had best go to your home."

Will's brow creases in a frown. This is new, a sudden jarring break in the four-four step that has Will stumbling out of the dance. But he swallows, and wonders just how violent Hannibal's temper is right now, that he would wish even Will away.

"Okay," he says, neither letting eagerness nor displeasure show in his voice. Hannibal nods, to himself, eyes black now and fixed on Will's hands. Will fights the urge to withdraw them, to hide them. "I just brought my coat. It's hanging up in the hallway."

He tells Hannibal this, because if he tries to pass him, to leave without warning, Hannibal might lunge for him.

Hannibal nods again, and there is some feral beast in him now, bubbling up behind his teeth, yowling and clawing at the innards of his person suit. He takes another drink of wine and then stands to one side, turns his face away, to the windows. Will feels the burn of his gaze on his own silhouette, and leaves the kitchen with neither haste nor delay. He goes to the front door, shrugs on his coat, and freezes when that same heavy, burning gaze settles on the back of his neck.

He does not turn.

"Will," Hannibal breathes, and Will sucks in a breath, closes his eyes, and reaches for the handle.

"I hope you feel better soon," is all he says, and then he leaves. He hurries down the steps and towards his car, almost sprints just in case Hannibal decides to hunt him, to give him the chance of escape only to chase him down and overpower him. He flings himself into his car, starts the engine, and pulls away. He does not see Hannibal in the mirrors.

He drives to his house, lets the dogs relieve themselves and dresses for bed, suddenly exhausted. He knows, if he and Hannibal weren't essentially in each other's pockets all the time, that Hannibal would strive to keep his blacker moods away from Will. But Will wants to see them – he can handle himself, and get a mean set of kicks and punches to Hannibal should he get violent. He certainly wouldn't go down without a fight.

But Hannibal loves him. Will knows this, just as he knows he loves Hannibal in return. Will himself is not immune to fits of rage, especially when whiskey and murder not done by Hannibal is involved. The rest of the world seems so tasteless, so crass, in comparison to him, but even diamonds can cut when turned to shards.

He calls the dogs back inside, his eyes on the black landscape of winter-night around his home. He shivers, cold and alone, and closes the door. He does not lock it.

He snaps awake sometime in the night, as there is pressure set to his mattress, by his foot. The dogs are not snarling, and there is a certain quality to a predator's silence, something heavy and assured, and he knows it's Hannibal even before he feels the familiar touch to his neck, the shaken inhale as Hannibal scents him.

Hears, very softly, Hannibal say, "Will." As if Will were not awake – as though his very soul doesn't move and arch in the presence of its mate.

Will lets himself stir, sucks in a breath like Hannibal's touch has roused him – for Hannibal trusts the things he can sense, and can see, and would not believe if Will simply knew he was there in the absence of everything else.

Will is turned away from him, resting on his stomach, back and neck open and exposed, and Hannibal's weight sinks to the mattress behind him, his hand flat on Will's shoulder, then squeezing at his bicep as he kisses gently over the nape of Will's neck.

He sighs, and Will flushes warmly. His fingers curl. "I missed you," he says.

Hannibal lets out a sound like pain, leans in more insistently and kisses Will's exposed neck. "And I missed you, mylimasis." Will's neck and shoulders pebble with goose bumps as he nuzzles the sensitive place at the back of his neck, just shy of his spine, on the right side, where his hair falls thickly but is easily moved by Hannibal's nose. Will's hips roll down, unable to help himself. "I missed you so much, I could not bear to be without you for a moment after you left."

Will swallows, for there was easily four hours between when he left and when Hannibal must have, if he just arrived. He must have sated his anger some other way – a way that saved Will's hide for a new night. There are some schools of thought, he's sure, that would insist that Hannibal's predisposition for violence and his need to, sometimes, send Will away, would mean there would be an inevitable point when Will couldn't escape, or that Hannibal wouldn't let him. But that is for less evolved men.

Will turns his head and meets his monster's eyes. There is a very subtle difference in the red of Hannibal's lips, lit by Will's bedside lamp since he didn't bother to turn it off. He always leaves a light on for Hannibal.

He rolls to his side, reaches out and presses his thumb to Hannibal's upper lip, forcing it to rise, to show his teeth and the thin edge of redness on his gums. He sighs. "You'll get sick if you eat too much raw," he says – a paltry concern, he is sure, considering Hannibal's knowledge of how to consume meat properly and his sensitive nose. Still, he has seen his dogs get sick from eating something they shouldn't have too many times to simply brush it off.

Hannibal's lips twitch at the corner. His hair is mussed. He's not wearing a suit, but simply a black sweater that goes to his wrists, and black suit pants. Will slides close to him, bare at his thighs, below his knees, his forearms and biceps exposed since he is wearing only a t-shirt and underwear: he desires, above all else, to satisfy all of Hannibal's hunger, and displays himself as a fine feast for Hannibal to come to when he has wrestled his monster back into its cage.

"I'm here now," he says.

Hannibal slow-blinks at him, like a sunning cat, and smiles wide. "Yes you are," he replies. He pushes himself upright and prowls over Will, cradles him and kisses him and Will arches up into it. Hannibal doesn't normally seek physical satisfaction from him for a while after he is angry. Then again, he has never sent Will away either.

Like a spark of lightning passing between them, he sees Hannibal and knows, knows this kind of hunger, this kind of desperate need in Hannibal's touch – for while he moves with no less assurance and confidence than normal, his fingers shake and he is starved for it. Will gasps in shock as Hannibal grabs him, pulls him down sharply and forces his thighs apart, every muscle in him strong and straining.

"Hannibal," he whispers, and Hannibal snarls, leans down into him and kisses Will harsh enough to bruise his lips. Bites, sharp enough that Will tastes iron. Hannibal yanks at Will's underwear and Will winces, hearing the material rip. It is a wholly unnecessary, caveman-like display of strength and aggression, but he laps at it like milk.

He laps at Hannibal, incensed by the snarls and grunts of his lover as Hannibal forces his clothes to undergo similar treatment – he is no more gentle with his fine suits than he is with Will's clothes. In each situation each piece of clothing receives the same level of care, whether it's polite and careful folding and stacking, or blatant discard.

Tonight, it seems, is a night for tearing.

Seams rip and then there is skin, warm flesh, and Will arches up, lets Hannibal haul his shirt over his head, his own sweater and shirt following, everything haphazard and messy and this is, he thinks, what it feels like when souls reunite after the long trek through purgatory.

"Please," Will says, and Hannibal merely kisses him again, in answer. He is a growling mess, predatory and proud and bred to mount and conquer. Will reaches, up and over his head, behind the pillows, to the bottle of lube that he keeps between his mattress and the wall. Hannibal lifts his head, eyes shining and black, and Will wets his fingers and reaches down, slicking Hannibal's blush-red cock.

Hannibal's jaw bulges, his upper lip curls. He fixes Will with the same kind of look a tiger might give a flock of gazelles before it lunges, and Will trembles for him, but just like in the kitchen, he does not run. Does not show fear.

He would hardly have survived this long if he did. Fear isn't part of Hannibal's pathology. Will sits up, cradles Hannibal's face with his clean hand, still stroking with the other, and kisses him breathlessly as Hannibal growls, rears up, and shoves Will back down.

"Wait, wait," Will says, and digs his heels into Hannibal's hipbones, stopping him from fucking into Will straight away. Hannibal snaps at him, and Will raises an eyebrow, tightens his hand around Hannibal's cock – his dry one – and sinks his lubed fingers between his legs. "You're forgetting your manners, sweetheart."

Hannibal blinks at him, breathes out. Hangs his head and flattens his palms gently on Will's thighs. "I'm sorry, darling," he says.

Will hums, and works a finger inside himself, lashes fluttering and head tipped back. He can tell Hannibal wants to lunge for him, wants to bite and fuck and work out any lingering aggression, but he is holding himself back, trying to be respectful, trying to be polite. It's a wonderful feeling, to have a monster on a leash, and Will relishes it even though he knows as soon as he lets that leash go, Hannibal will absolutely devastate him, and that he shouldn't push his luck.

He shoves a second finger in, jaw clenching and Hannibal growls, leaning down and flattening his tongue over Will's bared collarbone, lower teeth dragging along it to make the wet flesh sting. Will sucks in a breath, moaning weakly, and cards his other hand through Hannibal's hair as Hannibal latches onto his neck, nursing a large, dark bruise to the surface of his skin as Will gasps and fingers himself open.

"Will," he growls, and Will can smell the blood on him. It's in his hair. It's in his mouth.

Will swallows, and works his fingers out. He lets his legs go lax, his heels unhook, and Hannibal presses between his thighs with a greedy, impatient sound. He cups Will's hips and lifts him into his lap, cock pushing insistently between Will's legs. It takes one roll of Will's body, pressure at his shoulders and neck to bear all his weight, one shift in angle as Hannibal lets him go and angles his cock inside, and then Hannibal is in him, thrusting in forcefully.

Will cries out from the suddenness, caught off guard despite himself. It makes Hannibal freeze, and their eyes lock, Will panting and flushed and Hannibal, with his dark eyes and clenching fingers. Then, his head tilts, and he sucks in a deep breath. He spreads his thighs, letting Will's hips fall, and covers him instead, sinking in with a gentler thrust, until their hips connect.

Will's lashes flutter, he gasps when Hannibal cups his neck and kisses him, soft and sweet. "Will," he breathes, and his hands slide to Will's hips – clawed, stinging, he winces – and press tenderly there, angling Will on the mattress to a position where he can sink deep and put pressure on Will in a way they both enjoy.

Will kisses him, both hands cupped around Hannibal's face, clenches his muscles and wraps his legs tight around Hannibal's waist, urging him on. He feels the moment Hannibal turns wild again, hears him snarl and feels his nails dig in, moans as Hannibal starts to fuck him savagely – if Will had a headboard, it would be knocking a hole into the wall behind them.

He clutches at Hannibal, fists at his back, urging him on. The room is too warm, the light too sharp, and he buries his face in Hannibal's shoulder, gasping as Hannibal fucks against that one spot that makes his pleasure build. It grows, like falling snow, adding to a heap that will send him careening off the road. Hannibal doesn't touch his cock and neither does Will – it a point of pride Hannibal needs, after, to bring Will to orgasm just from being thoroughly mounted.

"Hannibal," he whispers, kisses his name to his lover's sweaty neck. Hannibal growls, bites him, deeply, just under his ear, and Will tenses up, his body swollen and sore, hips protesting the sharp angle, shoulders tight and tense from bearing the brunt of Hannibal's thrusts.

But he understands. "I won't leave, next time," he says, and Hannibal snarls, bites again. He might break skin and Will thinks of the scarred bite mark on his thigh, thinks of the 'mylimasis' carved into his rib, and whimpers, because he wants to welcome all of Hannibal's marks but there's propriety to consider. "I'll stay. I'll give you space, but I'll stay."

It is, apparently, all Hannibal needed. He rears back and catches Will's mouth, fucks in deep and goes still with a low growl, and Will gasps, kissing him back desperately as Hannibal comes in him. His hands, abruptly, turn gentle, and he sighs when he's finished, petting tenderly at Will's thighs. The taste of Will's flesh is in his teeth, mixed with blood, though he didn't break the skin of Will's neck. This time.

Escalation.

He pulls out and Will winces, body clenching up in indignant demand. He wants to come. He wants to come on Hannibal's cock – it's so much more satisfying when he does. Hannibal smiles at him, like he knows, and leans down for another kiss.

He wraps his fingers around Will's red, leaking cock, and tuts when Will whines, arching into it. "How rude of me," he purrs.

"Hannibal, _please_."

Hannibal regards him, head tilted, blood-whiskey eyes raking Will up and down. He sighs, reverent and soft. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs, and leans down to nuzzle Will's pounding heart. "So wonderful to me, Will. Every second where I am not in your company drives into me, wounds me deeply."

Will shivers, arches up.

"I want you to live with me. I want every breath of air to hold your scent, to have your laughter and moans color the walls. I want to paint my bedroom red with you."

" _Fuck_ ," Will gasps, lashes fluttering as Hannibal touches him, well-practiced, knowing every place Will is sensitive. Hannibal shifts, and his other hand touches Will's dirty thighs, and two of his fingers penetrate his swollen muscles, crooking up through the subtle ache and Will whines.

"I want you," Hannibal whispers. "I want every part of you, all the time." He twists his wrist, pets his fingertips over Will's prostate, and Will moans, loudly. "Even in my anger. In my sorrow. I don't want to hide that from you."

He doesn't – at least, he doesn't hide that he feels it, but Will eats the consequences. He rarely bears witness to them.

He paws at Hannibal's hair, clutches, and comes with another expert flick of Hannibal's wrist. Hannibal doesn't lift his head, so Will knows he's painting Hannibal's chest, his neck, the bottom of his chin with his come. He shudders, moaning weakly when Hannibal pulls his fingers out, lets go of his cock, and lowers his head to lick at the mess.

Will blinks up at the ceiling, panting, trembling, and then Hannibal is there and he kisses away the garish brightness of the light, kisses away the pervasive heat. Will clings to him, whining low, his hands cupping Hannibal's nape, and it feels like the leash has gone back around his monster's throat, Hannibal's violence reined in and only allowed back out when Will sees fit.

"You want me to live with you?" he asks, though that is obvious.

Hannibal smiles, and nods. "Yes."

Will licks his lips. Wants to, wants to. "The dogs," he says.

"We can build a kennel in the back garden, and make it comfortable for them in all seasons," Hannibal says. "The better-behaved ones can come inside. A little dog hair never hurt anyone."

Will stares at him, utterly entranced, in _love_ with the man who has such vicious control of his routine, to allow the chaos that is Will into his life. To welcome it, with open arms.

And he nods. He wants it – husband, roommate, lover. Ripper, monster, friend. He wants it all. Hannibal's joy is a physical thing, as he covers Will like warm water and kisses the remaining breath out of him.


	5. Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toys + orgasm denial + let Hannibal be the one squirming at the Opera for once  
> I'm in a weird dom!Will mood and I will not apologize.

Will doesn't hate the Opera. Hate implies there is any energy given to the emotion he feels about it at all. There is, simply put, a lack of any positive or negative emotion that ticks the little needle on the gauge of his patience one way or the other. He doesn't care.

What he _does_ love, is seeing Hannibal at the Opera. Of watching his peacocking monster dress himself up in a sharp suit, tying his tie and folding his pocket square _just_ so. Gelling his hair, straightening his cufflinks, every inch of him the perfect socialite, the debutant, the lord of all he surveys. Hannibal is beautiful for the Opera, an extra zero on the price tag of his outfit, a winning smile on his face for his friends, a sharp glimmer in his eye for everyone else.

He is, in a word, breathtaking.

And even more so, in Will's opinion, when Will gets to dress him.

Beside him, in his seat, Hannibal shifts his weight, his lashes fluttering and his hand reaching out to cover Will's on Will's armrest. To anyone else, they would appear simply as two men, sharing the passion and comfort of the two singers as they sing their duet. But Will sees the slight bulge in Hannibal's jaw, the flutter of his sandy lashes. Feels the way Hannibal's hand curl inward like a dead spider in his palm, upturned, too warm to lace their fingers.

Will smiles, his other hand resting over his folded suit jacket – it is actually quite warm in the Opera house tonight. Though he's not sure how much of that can be blamed on the old building's air conditioning, and how much blame lies in the blistering heatwave that is Hannibal, next to him. As a result, Will's coat rests on his lap, folded over one knee. He had placed it just so, making sure Hannibal saw the way he'd patted the outer pocket.

He puts his hand in that pocket now, at his knee, and finds the little remote. There is a small divot on one edge, so that he knows which way is up. Which arrow will make it better, which will make it worse.

They share their box with another couple, sitting behind them. As such, Will cannot touch Hannibal like he wants, but that is no matter. He finds the upper right corner of the remote, waits until the orchestra swells to crescendo, and presses.

Hannibal's fingers flex, and his nostrils flare. A single, tiny bead of sweat runs down in front of his ear.

Will tuts, licks his thumb, and wipes it away before it can run into the collar of his nice shirt. Hannibal's mouth twitches, upper lip curling, and he slants his gaze towards Will, corner of his eye sharp and dark. Will merely smiles and leans towards him, elbow on the rest, and brings Hannibal's knuckles up to his mouth to kiss.

"She has a beautiful voice," he murmurs, and smiles when Hannibal doesn't react. He lets Hannibal's hand go and reaches out to touch his knee – very proper, no flirtation. But he can feel the vibrations in the bone and cartilage, the tension in the muscle. "I'm at a loss as to what they're saying, though. The Italian parts. Can you translate for me?"

Hannibal does turn, then, and blinks at him. It is not slow, or relaxed, like he sunning-lion blinks at his food, tail swishing lazily. This is the stare of a crocodile, swimming close enough to show its teeth. Hannibal swallows, nostrils flared wide, lips pursed, a flush high on his sharp cheekbones. _God_ , he's lovely.

Will meets his eyes, gives him a soft, coy smile, and looks up at him through his lashes. "Please?"

Hannibal's eyes narrow and Will can practically hear him growling; _Devious little thing_.

But Hannibal breathes out, and Will's smile widens, shows teeth, and he slips his hand back into the pocket of his jacket. Hannibal's eyes dart to it, widen when Will pushes on the second button – not an arrow to change speed, but one to change the rhythm setting. He can't hear the toy, but he can feel in the jump of Hannibal's leg that it is no longer a constant vibration, but a deep, pulsing rhythm that feels like thrusts.

Hannibal's head tips back, his face a soft mask of ecstasy, lips parting and the tip of his tongue just visible. Will squeezes his knee, taps twice with two fingers. Relaxes when, after a moment, Hannibal taps his toe, twice, in answer.

_Green. Good. Don't stop._

"Hannibal," he purrs. "What are they saying?"

Hannibal breathes out, lifts his head and fixes his eyes on the stage. "It is a call and response," he says, breathless, fiercely soft. "I adore you, I embrace you." Will hums, and follows his gaze to the pair, dressed as Romans – Nero, he remembers Hannibal telling him, and his lover, Poppea. "I desire you, I -." He gasps, growling as Will idly flicks up the vibration power. His heel slides out, just an inch, leaving a groove in the grain of the carpet. His fingers tighten on his armrest.

"Keep going," Will breathes.

"I enchain you," Hannibal says. Another bead of sweat runs down his face. Will doesn't wipe it away. "No more grieving, no more sorrow, oh my dearest, oh my beloved." Will smiles. He loves the way Hannibal says that word – 'beloved'. In reward, or perhaps more incentive, he flicks to the next rhythm setting – short little bursts right against Hannibal's prostate.

Hannibal sucks in a breath, folds one of his legs over the other, and Will regards him with a raised brow. For someone like Hannibal, such a move is akin to a scream. Hannibal's hand settles over Will's on his knee, and clenches, spasming.

He whispers, "I am yours. Oh, my love, tell me so, you are mine, mine alone." His eyes move from the couple, to Will, and fix on him, and burn into him, and every muscle in Will tightens and unwinds, like a piece of sweater, snagged, and unravelling. Hannibal shows his teeth, digs his nails into the side of Will's knuckles, and trembles.

"Oh, my love," he says, and Will thinks he might be singing it, too, for how fiercely and strongly it hits him in the chest. Hannibal captures his hand, brings it up, presses it over his heaving chest and he is damp, here, warm and wild. "Feel my heart." Will's fingers clench in his perfectly-knotted tie, tug.

"See my love," Hannibal says, growling. " _See_."

" _Fuck_ ," Will whispers, and then the couple behind them clear their throats, _loudly_ , and Will flushes, pulling his hand back and spreading it over the armrest again. Hannibal's jaw clenches, and he turns further to give an apologetic nod to the couple behind them. Will wonders if he's memorizing their faces, for later. If he can even see clearly right now.

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and pushes the buttons on the remote down to the lowest setting. Hannibal's shoulders lower, his fingers flex and he corrects his posture, both feet on the ground as the toy settles to a low, uninteresting buzz. Will knows from experience that it's almost ignorable at this level.

Still, Hannibal looks ruffled, the arch of his tie slightly tugged out and bunching from the top of his suit vest. Will smiles to himself, and wonders how long it will take for Hannibal to notice, and correct it. If he will simply wait for Will to do it.

When the new big song begins, and the couple behind them have settled, Will reaches out and takes Hannibal's hand. Hannibal looks at him, wide-eyed, and Will kisses his pink knuckles. He waits until Hannibal meets his eyes, and grins.

"You have until the end of this song," he says, and that's all the warning Hannibal gets before he pushes the vibrations up as high as they will go and clicks through the rhythm settings, to his personal favorite – the fourth. It is a deep, rolling vibration that travels from the bulbous base of the plug, up to the flared tip, and back down, and that is constant, and a second set of vibrations to rabbit against a man's prostate and give him no sense of relief.

Hannibal gasps, his fingers tightening into claws in Will's hand. Will's lashes flutter, and he huffs, scooting his chair closer and shooting an apologetic smile over his shoulder at the couple behind him. He moves until the armrests of their chairs are touching and loops his arm through Hannibal's, settling his hand on his monster's trembling thigh.

He sighs, and rests his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder, for all the world like they are a simple pair of well-dressed men, enjoying the Opera and each other's company. Hannibal's fingers flex, twitch, curl up tight around the armrests. His knees spread and Will hears him swallow.

Will tuts, mock sympathetic. He tilts his head up, and smiles when Hannibal turns, and Will's lips brush against his jaw.

"I know it's not as good as me," Will says, heavily, letting his voice soak through the trill of the soprano, the pound of Hannibal's heart, the roar of his blood. Low things penetrate deeper, and Hannibal's thigh tenses, his neck moves as he swallows. Will wants to bite him, outraged at the pretty white of the shirt collar that shields his lover's neck. He brings his hand up, just a tease, meat of his thumb brushing the bulge of Hannibal's cock before he slides it back down to a more appropriate place. Hannibal is trembling, his hips giving little hitches, wanting the toy deeper.

"It doesn't get me deep enough," Will whispers, kissing the little watermark of sweat from Hannibal's jaw, where it's run from his brow.

Hannibal shivers.

"I think the song is almost over, baby," Will drawls, Southern charm and whiskey sour like he knows Hannibal likes, especially when they're surrounded in gold and finery. Hannibal huffs, licks his lower lip, tilts his chin up and fixes his black eyes on the stage below them. Will hums, trails idle fingertips along Hannibal's white knuckles, down the flexing tendons, the bulge of muscle in his forearms. "It would make me real, _real_ happy if you'd come for me."

"Will," he breathes, lashes fluttering. Will slides his hand back up, flattens his palm, warm and wide, over Hannibal's erection. Tightens his grip when Hannibal pulls his knees together and bares his teeth.

"Oh, my dearest, oh, my beloved," Will breathes, and nuzzles Hannibal's sweaty nape, teases his tongue along Hannibal's rushing pulse and doesn't give a flying fuck when the couple behind them clears their throats. "I am yours," he purrs, and Hannibal stiffens, nostrils flaring, head tipped _just_ so to expose more to Will's mouth. "You are mine. Mine alone."

"Will, _please_."

Will smiles, rubs the heel of his hand down, cruelly, on the swell of Hannibal's cockhead. It is a tense, warm knot of flesh. Will had searched far and wide to get the perfect restraint he wanted – he wanted something that would give Hannibal an erection, let him stiffen and grow wet and red under Will's touch, and would allow him to fill with blood, but would prevent Hannibal from coming and spilling.

After all, it would be a shame to waste such a nice suit.

He presses, and feels the unnatural bulge of silicone around Hannibal's warm flesh. "Can you do it?" he whispers, gifting Hannibal a flash of his eyes, shows the red flush on his cheeks. Lets Hannibal lean to him, nuzzle, smell Will's arousal in his blood. "Show me your love. Let me see you."

The high note hits, and Hannibal goes utterly, utterly still. One second, two, turns into three, into four, and then Will smiles and turns the remote down, and turns the toy off.

Hannibal sags, and though his new posture is no more scandalous than that of a man coming home from a hard day at work, the _sound_ he lets out is positively obscene. It drives a spike of heat straight through Will's stomach and he bites his lower lip, sits back and withdraws his hand so he can see Hannibal, flushed cheeks dark as his lips, brow shining with the beginnings of sweat, gelled hair slightly ruffled at the edges where Will kissed and nuzzled him. His chest heaves, and there is still an obvious line of his cock along his thigh. Will's smile is wicked and wide.

He slides his hand out of the pocket of his jacket and settles, resting his chin on his hand and tapping his fingers absently against his lower lip as he regards Hannibal from the corner of his eye. Hannibal's lashes flutter, he sucks in a breath, and, slowly, straightens in his seat.

Will lets his face go soft with pleasure, with satisfaction. Hannibal is always so utterly beautiful in his unravelling. He reaches out and pets Hannibal's thigh, soothing his shaking. "Good job, baby," he purrs, and Hannibal lets out a weak sound, covering Will's hand with his own. "You let me know when you're ready to go again."

Hannibal huffs, smiles, and nudges out with his foot until their ankles brush. He nudges, twice, and Will's smile widens, and he answers with a double-tap of his own, fingers touching Hannibal's thigh as he finally starts to calm, and settle.

By the time the intermission comes, Hannibal is so riled up again that Will has mercy on him, takes him to the bathroom on the third floor where no one goes and sinks to his knees and takes the restrictive silicone cage off, lets Hannibal fuck his mouth while the toy is on full blast and if it weren't for Will's obsessive desire to keep their clothes clean in public, he'd have turned Hannibal around, bent him over the sink and fucked him right there.

But there is propriety to consider.

"I will, baby," he says, smiling to his reflection in the mirror when Hannibal presses close to him in the bathroom, their clothes corrected, the toy returned, and begs breathlessly for Will. "I promise, when we get home."

He watches Hannibal's shoulders tense, and shake, admires the stretch of his fine suit over hard, warm muscle, and sighs, turns, noses Hannibal's jaw until Hannibal lifts his head, and kisses him deeply. He ruts forward, letting Hannibal feel how hard he is, how bad he wants it, but stops when Hannibal tries to take it any further.

He pushes Hannibal back, and grins when he sees that Hannibal's tie is still bulging in an unseemly way – though that's nothing to be said of the rest of him. His wild eyes and mussed hair makes him look bestial.

He reaches out and flattens Hannibal's tie, and allows his monster one more kiss, before he takes his hand. "Best behavior," he says, and Hannibal huffs, blinks because he would never roll his eyes, and smiles. The process of watching his person suit stitch back into place has always been enthralling for Will.

He smiles, and touches the corner of Hannibal's mouth as it flattens, placid, the final stitch in place. "Beautiful," he breathes, and Hannibal's eyes glow with adoration, soft and fond. Will laces their fingers together and tugs him along. "Let's go."


	6. Overstimulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry lovelies, I was out of town - we've got a lot of catching up to do!

In the darkness, there is only heat, a chorus of bestial snarls and hard grunts as Hannibal fucks Will. The saddle of his thumbs cup the slippery, soft skin at the backs of Will's knees, the determined brace of his heels at Hannibal's shoulders is the only thing keeping him upright. Were it not for Will's commitment, for his straining and trembling thighs, Hannibal would have collapsed atop him an hour ago. As it is, his heart is pounding, a thundering gallop that rattles his bones. Even though it's dark he knows he wouldn't be able to see if there were lights on, for sweat has long-since blinded him.

Will is wet, and raw, and the air is so warm it's scalding, and Hannibal can't _stop_.

"Again," Will demands, nails in Hannibal's nape, scraping, and his sweaty skin is so sensitive that it feels like Will is clawing down to the bone. He snarls, bends Will further, puts his knees on his chest and fucks as hard as he can into Will's spasming, sore hole. Will whimpers at the new angle, his thighs shaking under Hannibal's hands. " _Fuck_ , Hannibal, yeah, right there baby, just like that -."

He breaks, and it's not even moans anymore. Neither of them have the air for that. Instead Will flinches, loses the fight with his trembling legs and has to let Hannibal fall between them, sinking deep as he tightens up and bears down and Hannibal has to kiss him and he does. He yanks a hand through Will's sweaty hair, bites at his parted lips and greedily devours his sweet mouth as Will winces, whining, and he's past the point of spilling now; a single, meek dribble escapes his cock and slicks their bellies, joining the rest of the crusting mess he's left behind.

Hannibal pulls back and Will laughs, breathlessly, pawing at Hannibal's flushed chest and tweaking his nipples in a brief, painful twist. "You're doin' such a good job, baby," he whispers, and he sounds like he's high and Hannibal normally loves fucking Will past the point of coherency, but this is madness; they've been at it for hours and it keeps getting worse and worse.

Will lets out a rough noise, and hooks his heels in Hannibal's hips, forcing him to stop. Hannibal doesn't want to call the sound he lets out 'pitiful' but it's a fitting word. Will shushes him, pets gentle hands through his hair and leans up, catching Hannibal's mouth in a kiss as their breathing calms and their hearts quiet.

"Mm, good boy," Will says, cupping his neck and kissing him again. He pushes himself upright and it forces Hannibal to pull out. He hisses, sensitive and burning hot, and Will pushes at his neck, forces him to roll onto his back and Hannibal groans when Will straddles him. He's shaking as badly as Hannibal is, from satisfaction instead of denial, and yet they both growl when Will takes their cocks in hand, dragging Will's wet, spent one against Hannibal's erection within his tight grip, Hannibal trapped behind silicone and only feeling pressure.

It takes all of Hannibal's self-control not to come at the sound of Will's heavy, satisfied sigh. Then, again, when Will lets him go, slides back, and peels the heavy sheath from Hannibal's cock. It's not quite a flesh toy, not thick enough, but it dulled the sensation immensely once he was inside Will, didn't give him enough stimulation to come, so Will could use him over and over again and Hannibal only had his noises, his scent, his touch to drive him closer. Hannibal has always been sensitive to the sounds Will makes and even with that terrible, ridiculous thing on him, Will still can claw at that savage, feral place that is only satisfied by him.

Will sets the sheath to one side and then Hannibal groans, tilting his head back and grabbing at Will's hair as Will's lips part around his cockhead and sink down. He tugs at Will's hair, pleased when Will makes no move to gentle him or correct him. Will's mouth goes lax and he curls his fingers under Hannibal's ass, encouraging him to thrust.

Hannibal does, holding Will tightly and rolling his hips up, forcing his cock past Will's spasming muscles, as deep as he can go until Will's exhale puffs out over his balls, into his pubic hair from Will's nose. Will doesn't fight him – his shoulders are lax, his hands on the bed on either side of Hannibal now, and when Hannibal sinks back and allows Will to breathe, he's rewarded with a deep, desperate groan.

Will's tongue is thick and hot and wet, dragging down Hannibal's cock as Hannibal fucks up into his mouth again. He feels a scrape of teeth, the rough graze of the roof of Will's mouth, the instinctive spasm of his gag reflex, trying to deny Hannibal entrance, and Will moans, sinking down without being told to, shoving his nose flat to Hannibal's stomach and swallowing around his cock. He's leaking, absolutely filthy-wet, but Hannibal doesn't care at his point.

"Will," he breathes – a single warning, and Will hums, cheeks hollowing as he pulls back, taking over the rhythm now, and sucks on the head of Hannibal's cock, fingers of one hand stroking down his slick shaft as he does it, wrist twisting, tongue dragging –.

Hannibal comes with a sharp cry, a fire running all the way down to his toes as he empties into Will's mouth. It hurts, so long denied and so little sensation suddenly erupting, intense and burning and Hannibal snarls, pulls on Will's hair as Will keeps sucking, tongue dragging through his slit, swallowing every fresh spurt of Hannibal's come as it sweeps across his tongue.

He takes Hannibal's hands from his hair and plants them, then drops his mouth again until all of Hannibal is in his throat and Hannibal flinches, gasping as Will continues to suck on him, until the waves of pleasure have faded and now there's the unpleasant shards of overstimulation, making his stomach tense, his knees want to lift, but Will's weight is on him, keeping him down.

He huffs, tries to sit up, but Will merely hums and sucks harder. "Will," he says, and Will's shoulders tense up, and Hannibal can't see him in the darkness but he knows Will is watching. Will's fingers flex around his wrists, warning, but he lets one of Hannibal's hands free, gentles his mouth as Hannibal wraps a hand in his hair. He shivers, sighing as Will finally pulls off, licks once over the head of Hannibal's cock, and crawls up his body to sit on his hips and leans down, cradling Hannibal's neck, and takes him in a kiss.

Hannibal sighs into it, cradling his lover close, only to hiss when Will reaches between his legs and wraps his fingers around Hannibal's spent cock. He's oversensitive, twitching, and bites Will's lower lip as Will strokes him.

Will merely laughs. "Sorry, baby," he murmurs, gentle and sweet, and kisses Hannibal again. "Got kinda carried away."

He lets go and cups Hannibal's jaw with both hands, stealing one more kiss before they settle, blind and warm in the dark. Will sighs, heavy, a comforting weight as he kisses Hannibal, pets up through his hair, and lets Hannibal touch him in turn until they've both stopped shaking.

"There was a time you called me 'gluttonous'," Hannibal says when Will finally lets his mouth free. He hears Will laugh, listens as Will reaches back to tug on the blankets and pull them over their bodies, trapping their warmth. Will settles, but doesn't move to the side, and Hannibal sighs and wraps his arms around Will's shoulders as Will's cheek rests on his collarbone. "I'm starting to think you were projecting."

Will huffs, grins, and turns his teeth to nip at Hannibal's warm skin. "I'm just greedy," he teases. "There's a difference."

Hannibal hums. "Insatiable," he says.

Will doesn't answer, except to nip again at Hannibal's flushed skin. He rolls, wedging himself under Hannibal's arm, and heaves a satisfied sigh, nuzzling close as Hannibal pets through his hair. Hannibal lets him settle, waits until the last of the lingering tension melts from Will's muscles, and then says; "We should probably shower. You made quite a mess tonight. A series of messes."

Will grunts, a sleepy complaint. "Later," he mutters.

Hannibal smiles, and turns so he can kiss Will's hair. Will is a happy, purring mess of warm flesh beside him, utterly satisfied, and Hannibal would not move him for Hell or high water. "Later," he agrees, and closes his eyes.


	7. Safewording

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: the beginning of this chapter depicts a scene of fearplay/noncon roleplay. they don't get far before Hannibal safewords and it is a prior agreed-upon, consensual scene, but it might ping badly if you're sensitive to that kind of content.

Will snaps awake a split second before a hand wraps around his throat from behind, and he's pulled back against a broad, clothed chest. He tenses, snarling and lashing out instinctively, but then his wrists are caught by another strong hand and pinned to his chest, and there are teeth at his neck. He goes still, trembling and panting, and hears a low laugh from behind him;

"Hello, darling."

Will swallows, his eyes widening as the hand around his neck squeezes, thumb threateningly pressing at his pulse. Cutting off air is a slow drag under, but a blood chokehold is fast and painful and subdues the victim much more quickly. His heart is racing, pounding against his ribs.

The man – and it is a man, Will can feel undeniable evidence pressed against his thigh – laughs lowly, tilts his head and licks up the back of Will's neck, a broad stripe heavy with saliva that leaves his skin shivering and cold.

"Shh," the man says, and Will flinches when his hand turns gentle, slides up to Will's hair and pulls, making him bare his neck. "I won't hurt you, darling, not if you behave."

Will shakes his head, tries to struggle again, and all it earns him is another laugh and a painful tug on his hair. His breath stutters, he gasps, and then the hand at his hair pulls away and fingers dig into his lounge pants, yanking them down to his thighs.

The man huffs, pleased in a way that makes Will's stomach clench with shame, as he touches Will's hole and finds him wet and open. "Looks like you were ready for me," he purrs, and Will whines, wants to shake his head and say 'No', because he wasn't, he wasn't -. "I should have suspected. You've been teasing me for weeks, flaunting yourself so brazenly."

Will opens his mouth to protest, only to cut off with a sharp cry as the man shoves two fingers into him. Will is sore, and his muscles spasm around the sudden, unwelcome intrusion, as the man presses deep and curls his fingers, knuckles tugging on the inside of Will's rim and making him flinch. His legs curl up, he claws, trying to get away, but the man's hold on him is unshaking and absolute.

The man growls, and licks Will's neck again and the action makes Will's spine clench, body shuddering at the unbearable heat of him. "Poor little thing, I wonder what your husband would think, to know he has so neglected you?"

Will's chest tightens and he growls, forces his voice to be strong, not to panic, when he says, "My husband will kill you." At that, the man's fingers still. "He'll hunt you down and rip you apart for touching me."

The man laughs, and works in a third finger and Will hisses, swallows harshly, bares his teeth. "If he's so protective of you, where is he now?" he demands, and Will shakes his head, flinches when the man's fingers brush his prostate, sending a sharp pang of sudden arousal through him. He doesn't let himself moan, but his breath escapes him, heavy, through his nose.

The man kisses his neck, pauses. Breathes in deeply, and Will remains still, presses his lips together. After a moment, the man sighs, and pulls his fingers out, instead wrapping his arm around Will's stomach and pulling him back. Will's wrists are freed in the next moment and Will swallows, relaxing as his body wants to do, in Hannibal's arms.

He pets over Hannibal's hand, laces their fingers together. "Too much?" he asks.

Hannibal nods, and turns Will so he's on his back. He wipes his fingers on Will's bedsheets and Will pulls his lounge pants back up to settle around his hips. It's dark, not even a light on as Will normally leaves for Hannibal – he's at his own home, to further cement the fantasy while he still has it, before he moves in permanently once the kennel is complete.

But Will can see his eyes, see the deep lines around them and the dark shadow of worry in them. He pets over Hannibal's face, drags gentle knuckles down his cheek, and leans up for a kiss. He knows Hannibal, for all his sadistic tendencies and violent urges, finds an acute abhorrence at the notion of sexual violation – frankly, Will is surprised he agreed to trying it in the first place.

"I don't like the scent of fear on you," Hannibal says, bending and kissing Will's knuckles when they touch his jaw. He cradles Will close, embraces him tightly, rests their foreheads together and pets through Will's hair. "And when you just…laid there…"

Will hums. "Would you have preferred if I fought more?" he asks, trying to tease, but Hannibal winces and lets out an unhappy sound, and Will regrets the words instantly. He tilts Hannibal's face and kisses him again. "I'm sorry. That was in poor taste."

Hannibal doesn't respond with placating words, nor denial. He leans down, cupping the back of Will's neck, their noses brushing. He sighs.

"I think what affected me most was the idea that you would simply…accept what was happening to you. That you would rely on me, for revenge, but would do nothing to stop the situation as it was happening."

Will frowns, presses his lips together, swallows. He sits up and forces Hannibal to mimic him, and makes sure Hannibal's eyes are fixed on him when he says; "Hannibal." Short, stern, making sure Hannibal's attention is on him. "If I was ever in that situation for real, I would never stop fighting."

Hannibal watches him, and then he nods, and smiles. "I know," he breathes, and reaches for Will again. Will smiles, kissing him, and lets Hannibal press him back down onto the cool sheets.

"Do you want to do something else, tonight?" he asks.

Hannibal pauses, and presses his lips together. His hands flex, flatten, on Will's sides. "If it's alright, I'd rather just…" He doesn't finish the sentence, but Will doesn't need him to. He nods, and rolls onto his side, letting Hannibal settle, facing him. He nuzzles close, smiling when Hannibal holds him tightly, his nose to Will's hair, their legs entwined.

Will pets over his back – long, soothing strokes, as Hannibal's breathing evens out. He tilts his head up, kisses Hannibal's neck, lets Hannibal feel how trusting and lax he is when Hannibal's arms tighten. "I've got you," he whispers, and Hannibal doesn't answer, but he kisses Will's hair and sighs, and Will is relieved when the last of the tension melts from his back.


	8. Massage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +praise kink and a little handfeeding :D

Will loves Hannibal – of course he does. He is a man shamelessly entrenched in the pursuit of pleasure and the individual freedom of the mind and of its desires. Without him, Will would have been a caged dog, leashed and beaten behind the bars of morality and justice that had never made sense to him. Hannibal is liberation, is freedom, is unadulterated and shameless lack of inhibition, a purring predator, ageless and limitless.

He is also a stubborn old fool.

Will looks up as a sharp hiss escapes from behind Hannibal's teeth, his upper lip pulled back as he stalls in place, mid-turn. He is a master of controlling his expressions and schools it quickly, but Will sees the ripples of pained lines around his eyes, the subtle downturn of his mouth.

He rolls his eyes and sets his whiskey down, gesturing to Hannibal as he sets down a plate of grapes, fresh cheese, agave syrup and crackers for them to graze – it's late afternoon, the winter weather had seen Will's classes canceled and Hannibal's appointment books cleared, and they'd woken late and had a large breakfast, so it is not yet time to think of dinner, but late enough to feel small pangs of hunger.

"Hannibal," he says, scolding, and Hannibal blinks at him, sharp-eyed, lips pursed in displeasure as he straightens and dusts off his hands. "Why won't you let me rub your back?"

"It is a paltry nuisance," Hannibal replies coolly. "And I am more than capable of soothing my own aches, Will."

Will huffs. They've been having these playful attempts at arguing for about a day, now, since Hannibal twisted his back, and cold weather has not been kind to him since. "Aren't you the one always preaching to me about knowing my limits?" he says.

Hannibal's brows lift, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I do not _preach_ ," he says. But Will smiles, and so he smiles. He sighs, rolling his shoulders, wincing as they twinge, overcompensating for his sore back.

Will tilts his head, considering him. Hannibal is a proud man, and Will is sure he doesn't like the reminder of his increasing years and any hint that his body will, at one point, not be up to the labor he put it through in his youth. Still, he's being ridiculous, and Will stands.

"Come here," he commands, and Hannibal eyes him. Will meets his gaze steadily, refuses to back down, and finally Hannibal relents, approaching Will and making to sit in his vacated space. Will catches him at the nape of his neck and shakes his head when Hannibal meets his gaze.

"Not there," he says, and smiles, brushing his thumb along Hannibal's cheek, into the corner of his mouth. Sees Hannibal's lashes flutter, as Will's nail grazes the white edge of his lower lip and presses beneath the center of it. Will tugs on his neck, brings him to the corner of the table. "Take off your shirt."

Hannibal sighs, longsuffering as ever, but obeys that command too, and unbuttons his white button-down, letting it fall with another sharp wince. Will catches it in his free hand, folds it carefully and drapes it over the back of Hannibal's normal chair. He sees Hannibal's mouth twitch in a smile, dark eyes pleased at Will's consideration, and this time leans into Will's touch, much more accepting.

Will smiles, and tilts him into a kiss – it is chaste, just enough to entice him into obedience. Then, he steps back, and presses his hand between Hannibal's jutting shoulder blades.

"Bend over."

Hannibal huffs, a loud expulsion of breath, but obeys, letting Will guide him onto his elbows on the end of the table, so his thighs press against one side of the corner and his body extends out past his chair. Will pulls the chair back so he has room to maneuver, and sighs, petting down Hannibal's spine.

"Just relax," he says, and leans down to kiss Hannibal's hair. "You take care of me so often, and so capably. I just want to do the same to you."

Hannibal wants to protest, Will can see it, so before he can, he cards his hand through Hannibal's hair and yanks his head upright, forcing their eyes to meet. Hannibal's throat flexes, his eyes tightening as his back flares and aches, and Will leans in until their foreheads touch.

"Any backtalk gets you the gag," he growls, watching with pleasure as Hannibal's pupils flare out wide. "I'm just gonna talk to you, touch you, make you feel good, and you're gonna let me, alright?"

Hannibal's lashes lower, he presses his lips together, but sighs and nods his acceptance, and Will smiles, kisses his cheek, and lets him go so his head can fall limp. "Good," he purrs, and reaches into his messenger back on the floor by his seat, where he started stashing some lotion for the time when Hannibal finally allowed him a massage. He's glad his patience snapped so soon, when it was convenient.

The lotion is unscented in deference to Hannibal's sensitive nose, and it was a bitch and a half to find. He uncaps it and pours some onto his hands, slicking his palms and making his fingers soft, before he returns to Hannibal's side. It certainly isn't the best place or position to do what he wants, but he's pushed his luck already and Hannibal clearly needs a firmer hand today.

He flattens his hands on Hannibal's back, just past his shoulders. Hannibal is tan, darker than Will, warm to the touch, and his fingers slide down the skin effortlessly. He watches, keen eyes sensitive for any clench of muscle, any fissure of pain as he works his hands down either side of Hannibal's spine. He finds a knot between his shoulder blade and spine, small but there, and kneads gently at it, working the skin to a fine flush as Hannibal growls, tensing beneath him.

Will hums, and swats under Hannibal's chest. "Relax," he murmurs.

Hannibal doesn't respond except to arch back up, letting Will push at the little knot until it gives, melting into the rest of his muscle. He pets over the warm patch of skin, admiring the red shine of it, before he continues down. He's had enough time and physical abuse to know where the body can knot up the worst, would argue his ability to manipulate and coax muscle into submission rivals even Hannibal's, but he does not say it, for the sake of his pride.

He drags his hands down Hannibal's spine, palms flat and thumbs brushing from the divot, out, gently tracing the fine, smooth muscle, until he meets the place that is obviously causing Hannibal's pain. There is a riotous, hard bulge of knotted tissue, just above where his kidneys sit, on the left-hand side. Hannibal tenses and lets out a low breath, and Will merely measures the top and bottom of the knot, frowning when he feels how wide it is, and continues his journey until he reaches the waistband of Hannibal's suit pants.

The knot is easy to find again, rearing up against his fingers as though anticipating the fight, just like the rest of Hannibal is. He smiles to himself, and lets out a soothing sound as he works his thumbs around the edges of it, forcing a fine flush to Hannibal's skin.

Hannibal's fists clench and he growls when Will bears down, and Will shushes him, but does not gentle his fingers. "Just relax," he purrs, rutting his knuckles against the bulging pressure of the knot. It's a tight, angry snarl of muscle, stubborn just as the man himself is – but Will is stubborn too. "You're doing such a good job, letting me take care of you. I know you don't like being so vulnerable, that you only let me see it, and you'll never know how much I love and appreciate you for it."

He flattens his palm and presses the heel of his hand at the base of the knot, working upwards in a slow rock that has Hannibal tensing, a soft, strangled moan falling from him. His head drops and his shoulders roll, tense and tight.

"You're so good to me, Hannibal," Will breathes, his eyes on the shine and flush of Hannibal's back as he starts to sweat, shaking as Will works the tension and lactic acid out of him. "You do anything and everything you can to make me feel loved, cared for."

Hannibal hisses when Will digs in with his fingers again, pleased when he feels part of the knot give, finally submitting as Hannibal trembles and growls.

"I love you so much," Will says, and Hannibal lifts his head, turns and Will doesn't look at him, doesn't meet his eyes, but he can feel them burning. "Thank you for letting me do this."

At that, Hannibal sags, pressing his belly flat to the table with a groan of surrender. Will smiles, merciless as he works his hands into the knot, feels more of it give, and flatten, spreading out in a dark stain of raw meat and abused flesh under his touch. Hannibal flinches, growling, as the knot finally gives and Will lets out an explosive breath, palming the edges, working the soreness into the edges of the knot as it melts away. He will still be sore, of course, and it will ache, but he's taken care of the worst of it.

Will shushes him, pets over his back, rubs gentle, warm hands up his spine until he reaches Hannibal's neck. He rubs there, too, just briefly, pleased to find only limp muscle, and then he cups Hannibal's shoulders and pulls him upright. Hannibal's face is slack, eyes heavy-lidded, a fine pink stain on his cheeks.

Will kisses him, and directs him to his seat. "Stay right here," he orders, and Hannibal nods, swallowing harshly. Will rushes to the kitchen only to wash his hands, and returns to find Hannibal as he'd left him, almost blissful. He smiles, and goes to him, pulling the tray of food to them. Hannibal blinks, and lifts his eyes.

Will grabs a grape and holds it to his mouth. "Eat."

Hannibal frowns, lips pulled down sharply. "Will -."

"Shh," Will says, and stands between Hannibal's thighs, his free arm braced on the back of the seat so he looms over Hannibal, covers and consumes him. He kisses Hannibal's forehead. "Eat."

Hannibal huffs, but relents, allowing Will to feed him the grape. Will smiles, letting Hannibal see his pleasure, see his gratitude. He nuzzles Hannibal's temple and reaches for another grape, feeds it to him, and settles on Hannibal's lap with a sigh.

Hannibal clutches at him, nostrils flaring as he swallows and puts his nose to Will's neck. "It felt good, didn't it?" Will asks, and Hannibal sighs, nodding in reluctant agreement. Stubborn. Will smiles, sits forward, and gasps when he feels Hannibal's erection press between his thighs, below the bulge of his own cock in his sweatpants. "It felt good for me, too. I love taking care of you."

"Will, please," Hannibal growls, nipping at his neck in a way that makes Will shiver. "Let me take care of you, now."

Will smiles, and shakes his head. "Later," he promises. He rolls his hips in a teasing grind, delighted when Hannibal shivers and clings to him more tightly. "I'm won't let you undo all my hard work. Just relax." He reaches for another grape and holds it to Hannibal's mouth, pulls back and fixes him with a challenging look. "Eat."

Hannibal huffs, and rolls his eyes, but lets Will feed him. Will kisses him when he swallows, drinking down his quiet, desperate moan. He tastes sweet on the inside, from the grapes, and Will licks into his mouth, behind his teeth, and shivers when Hannibal bites his lower lip.

"Later," he says, though it's with less conviction now, as Hannibal clutches at his thighs and rolls his hips, forcing their bodies together.

"Of course," Hannibal replies, purring and smug. "Later." But he does not stop.

Will rolls his eyes. "Stubborn old man," he mutters, but he's grinning. Hannibal smiles back, unrepentant, and Will kisses him again. After all, when it comes to finding pleasure in each other, Will is just as insatiable as Hannibal.


	9. Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also impact play (which makes the crying happen) and a lot of aftercare

Will is, in a word, exquisite. From the first moment they met, Hannibal has been absolutely taken with him. He adores Will, in all his facets, how he shines and glistens with sweat, whether he has returned from a run or writhes in their bed, heart thundering for an entirely different reason.

When he is panting, showing his teeth, when there is blood dripping from his parted jaws, when rain or sweat or shower water slicks his hair and turns it almost black. When he is red, pink-cheeked, flushed down to his belly.

When he is strong, and when he is shaken. When he puts every muscle and fiber of his being into the task of fucking Hannibal senseless, or when his shoulders and arms strain as they haul a body into their home to harvest and dispose of. When he is lax and sated, loose-limbed and whiskey-glazed in the eye. When he is sprawled out, cavalier and calm, over one of the couches or in their bed. When he is trusting, complacent, letting Hannibal pet and move him as he likes.

When he is ragged and raw, clawing at Hannibal's shoulders, his back, Will's thighs tight and tense around him, urging him on. When he rolls them and rides Hannibal until both of them white out. When he lays his hands on Hannibal with the intent to harm, to drag them both up the cliffside and throw them over into pain-laced ecstasy.

Will is exquisite. He is beautiful in all things, at all times, and Hannibal could never be more in love with another person if he tried.

But, oh, when he _cries_.

Not from any genuine emotional distress. No, though Hannibal is sadistic, he hates the idea of Will crying out of fear, or sadness, or guilt, or anything else that could not be fixed with a soothing touch or a calm word. The sight of Will's tears triggers some primal, possessive creature in him that goes rabid with the need to tend to its mate, to please him and pet him and calm his shaking.

Will cries when Hannibal beats him. It is a natural reaction, something he goaded Hannibal to, the first time. A cathartic release unattainable with anything else. The gut-wrenching, ugly – though not when Will does it, never with Will – kinds of sobs, tears staining his face and his chest heaving with shaking, hiccupping breaths. The kind of burst dam that can only be cured with patience and time.

And so, he stops, when Will gags and bows his head, upper body heaving like he's going to be sick. Hannibal sighs through his nose, tasting the saccharine shards of salt in the air, and wraps the flogger tails around his hand, before he sets it to one side and goes to Will. He detaches the rope from the hook above his head, first, and Will sags against him, lurching sideways, pressing his face into Hannibal's shoulder.

Hannibal rests his cheek against the top of Will's sweaty hair, shushing him as he cradles Will's wrists to his chest. His thumbs linger over Will's rushing pulse, hidden behind such delicate skin. His hands are pale, robbed of blood, and they will tingle soon as numbness gives way to unpleasant pins and needles.

Will's fingers flex and he sobs again, his breath hitches, a heavy sniff through his nose breaking the rhythm of his breathing. Hannibal undoes the cuffs and lets them fall to be attended to later, and lifts Will's knuckles to his lips, kissing formlessly at them as they clench and flex against his jaw.

He closes his eyes, nudges his nose against Will's soft, sodden curls, and then pulls back and cups his fingers under Will's chin, forcing his head to lift. His cheeks are red, his lips bruised and dark from being bitten, but his eyes shine like diamonds buried in the ocean, so brilliant and beautifully stark, the rough-hewn shred of ice burrowing into the hull of a ship. He is beautiful, deliriously so in his pain, in the ecstasy of his tears.

Hannibal watches, moves his eyes slowly between each of Will's, and watches as Will mimics him, following like the slow-swing of a cuckoo clock. Will sucks in a breath, dips his face but Hannibal tuts, taps his chin again, makes him lift.

"Look at me, darling."

Will does, through barriers of ice and saltwater. He blinks, and more tears spill out and Hannibal tilts his head. Will mimics. The other way, the same. Hannibal sighs through his nose, and Will answers by parting his lips and sucking in a sharp breath. He leans in, nosing wetly at Hannibal's shirt, and trembles when Hannibal wraps a hand around the side of his neck, settles the saddle of his thumb under Will's ear, and holds him close.

He leans in and kisses Will's forehead and Will's breath stutters, his heartbeat dances triple-time for a moment before trying to slow, and he rocks into the brush of Hannibal's thumb below his ear, his eyes dropping low, no longer hitching quite so violently.

Hannibal lets go of his neck and takes Will's hands, guiding them to wrap around his shoulders. Will clings to him, desperate, child-like almost, and buries his face in Hannibal's neck, and then Hannibal bends and wraps his hands under Will's bruised, blister-hot thighs and lifts him into his arms.

Will cries out, clinging to him frantically, his legs hooking tightly around Hannibal's waist as he's carried to the plain bed in the corner of their play room. Hannibal knows it hurts, feels Will's shoulders heave with fresh sobs, his nails dig in, and then Hannibal places him on the bed, lets his legs go and forces him to unhook, to fall back.

Will moans sharply in pain as his tender back, ass, and thighs come into contact with the sheets. He doesn't move to get away, doesn't flinch, too limp and ragged even for self-preservation. His eyes stare up, blankly, sharp as ice, into Hannibal's, his slack lips parted around heavy gasps. He reaches, soundless, blind almost, begging for Hannibal to cover him.

Hannibal smiles, takes Will's hand, kisses his palm and lets Will touch his cheek, his jaw, before he presses his hand down. "Present for me, darling," he murmurs. Will's throat flexes as he swallows, he sweeps a hand through his hair and over his face, through the tacky, drying trails of tears, and looks to the headboard, the white pillows and dark wood.

He rolls, swimming otter-like into position, tucks his knees beneath him and lifts his hips, presenting his bruised ass and thighs for Hannibal's gaze. He lowers his chest to the bed, stretches his arms out in front of him, and sighs, his head hanging low so his forehead brushes the sheets.

Hannibal smiles, and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and reaches for the large jar of coconut oil salve he placed on the table beside the flogger. He opens it and dips his fingers in, closes the jar, and spreads it across both hands.

Then, he kneels behind Will, and gently runs his hands down Will's back. He is a mess of welts, bruises, teeth marks. Will sags and moans, teeth clenched and every muscle in him trembling as Hannibal soothes over the blister-hot wounds with gentle but firm brushes of his hands.

Hannibal plants his grip on Will's hips, confident that his thighs will hold, and kisses the small of his back. "I know it hurts, darling," he says, voice low so he doesn't yank Will back to reality too harshly. Will's back heaves with another sob, the scent of fresh tears explodes over the scent of the salve. He kisses again, licks a singular pinprick of blood from a particularly sharp whip-strike, and straightens, his hands returning to their work. "I know it hurts. It's alright. Take as long as you need."

Will's shoulders roll, every inch of him a savage, beautiful display, a canvass for Hannibal's violent brand of love, his hard and unrelenting show of devotion. He tenderly paints Will's back with the salve, making him shine, and wishes he had a camera at this moment, because these reds and purples are certainly the most flattering colors on Will that he has ever seen.

He sits back, greedy eyes ravenously taking in the sight of similar bruises and welts on Will's ass, across the backs of his pale thighs. He smiles, pleased when Will shifts his weight, spreads his legs, eager and inviting. The soft slip between his thighs is wonderful to touch, and Hannibal cups Will's balls gently, wetting him, and then wraps a hand around Will's cock and listens as Will's breath hitches and he rears his head back, panting to the ceiling, his fists clenching.

Hannibal leans in, takes Will's throat in his hand, digs his thumb in the soft place behind his jaw and bites at his ear. His clothing drags along Will's burning back and Will shivers, groans, as Hannibal strokes him with smooth, sure touches.

Will shudders, riotous and rolling, and lifts one hand to grip the headboard, bows his head so Hannibal's grip is like a chokehold, he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw and _screams_.

Hannibal growls, parts his teeth and sinks them into the back of Will's shoulder where he's pink and sore. "That's it, darling," he says, low and rough as Will's hips cant forward, rolling desperately into Hannibal's hand and then back, seeking more of that abrasive friction that hurts and hurts and _hurts_. "Let it all out. I'm here. I'll take care of you."

Will whimpers, tosses his head and lifts his free hand to his mouth, biting down harshly on his knuckles. His cock twitches, warm and hard in Hannibal's hand, and then he collapses to the bed with a heavy groan, coming thick and wet over Hannibal's fingers as Hannibal strokes him. On the end of his satisfied moan comes another sob, so quiet it could almost be a sigh, but his thighs shake under Hannibal's weight and he's heaving, face buried in his arms, now folded around his head, fingers knotted in his slick hair and pulling up to bare his nape.

Hannibal growls, letting go of his cock, and bites the offered slip of flesh, the only part of Will's back that did not meet his whip, his lash, his flogger. Still, it is marred nonetheless, deep teeth marks and imprints of suck-kisses left behind in a skewbald pattern of bruises and raised marks that Will keeps his hair long to hide from polite society.

Hannibal wipes his hand clean – a cursory thing, no more than a swipe against the wrinkled bedspread – and holds Will to him by his teeth, pulling him upright, to his knees. Will sags against him, collapses, utterly spent and hollowed out, ready for Hannibal to fill him and remake him anew.

Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, and though Will is not much smaller than he is, in his arms Will feels dainty and delicate, his face turned in to Hannibal's neck, shoulders hunched, knees curled up as he settles. Hannibal sits, his back to the wall, and pulls Will across his lap, mindful of his sore limbs. Will ends up with his back against Hannibal's bent leg, his own legs spread out down the center, shoulder tucked beneath Hannibal's arm and cheek on his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

Hannibal lets him settle, for a moment, until Will's breathing finally goes back to normal, his twitches subside, and the flush on his chest fades to the normal post-coital pink, satisfied. He is shining with sweat, his fingers shaking – Hannibal will need to bathe and feed him soon, to bookend the scene, but he would not move Will for anything right now, not when he has his fiery, fierce lover so trusting and pliant in his arms.

He hooks his fingers beneath Will's chin and lifts him, after a while. Will slow-blinks at him, his lips twitching in a lazy smile, dopey and high in the endorphin rush. He wipes at his face again and sighs, gazing up at Hannibal like he's fallen in love all over again.

Hannibal tilts his head, and Will doesn't move, except to push his forehead against Hannibal's arm, his hand coming up to cradle his wrist and pull it to his mouth for a kiss.

Hannibal smiles. "There you are," he says, and Will hums, lashes low, and mouths at Hannibal's wrist, breathing in the scent of the coconut oil and Will's come clinging to his skin.

"Here I am," he replies, hoarse, fucked-out. He smiles, wider this time, and licks his lower lip. Lifts his eyes, and they're dark now, oceans and capsized ships. He sighs and nuzzles Hannibal's neck, tactile and needy after such an intense session, and Hannibal holds him closer, more than happy to sate every one of Will's desires. He cups Will's face, kisses him, salt and all, and Will turns lax in his arms again, melted and mellow.

He huffs. "Don't know if I'm ready to move yet," he mutters.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his forehead. His hand cradles Will's nape, other hand cupped around his hip. "Take your time, darling," he purrs, and presses his nose to Will's hair. Breathes in deeply, tastes his pain, his relief, his fever-sweet flesh. His mouth waters. When Will is ready, he will draw a bath and tend to Will's aches and wounds in warm water, soothing the muscles' ache, and wash his face and hair, see him clean and refreshed. He will take Will to the dining room and ply him with sweet desserts, fresh fruit, and wine until he's just as lax and deliciously submissive as he is right now.

Then, Hannibal will take him to bed. And by the time he is done, Will's tears will be of pleasure, not of pain, and come morning he will be just as relaxed, molten and trembling and utterly spent, and will not be able to move for an entirely different reason.


	10. Begging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> creampie kink + begging + morning sex :D

Hannibal stirs as he registers the absence of Will, feels the drag of his arms from around Hannibal's chest and a sweet kiss placed to his shoulder from behind. He huffs, a soft complaint at the removal of Will's heat at his back, and receives a gentle laugh in answer and another kiss.

"Bathroom," Will murmurs. "Be right back."

Hannibal huffs again, reaching back to give Will's thigh a squeeze before Will disentangles himself from their bed and rises, his soft footfalls letting Hannibal track him to the bathroom. The light comes on, the door closes, and the overhead fan begins its quiet whir. In the peaceful white noise, he drifts, idly walking his way down the path to wakefulness, and rolls onto his back, seeking the dip where Will was, breathing in his scent as he waits for Will to return.

The toilet flushes, the sink runs as Will washes his hands, and there is a small stretch of time when there is only the noise of the fan, before it turns off, and Will returns from the bathroom. Hannibal opens his eyes to slits, and then blinks when he turns to regard Will and finds him naked, grinning off-kilter as Hannibal merely stares at him.

He climbs into bed, pawing roughly at the pool of sheets around Hannibal's waist, dragging them down. Then, his pajama pants, and Will settles over him warm and heavy. Hannibal's breath catches, his brain still firmly entrenched in the fog of sleep, but quickly wakening as Will rocks his hips and sighs, tilting his head back, and drags his nails across his chest, raising little red lines.

Hannibal's hands slide into place on Will's bare thighs, gripping him tightly, and Will smiles at him, his own eyes heavy with sleep, dark as they stare down, and he sweeps a hand through his hair, practically purring when Hannibal starts to harden against him.

He reaches down and wraps a hand around Hannibal, testing, and lifts to his knees, and Hannibal can smell the lubricant on his fingers and he growls, jaw tightening, as Will shifts forward and sinks down onto him. He's already stretched, wet and warm as sin, and he takes Hannibal easily until their thighs connect.

"What's gotten into you?" Hannibal breathes. Will takes no reprieve, wastes no time before he's rocking his hips, lazy and uncoordinated movements that make his muscles tighten with overcompensation, clenching tight around Hannibal's cock. His hands, though they roam freely, do not touch himself or Hannibal with any aim to stimulate or encourage. Rather, he pets through his hair, down his neck, drags his nails along the backs of Hannibal's hands and it feels like his intention is display. Peacocking, desperate, flushing deep already, he looks beautiful and drags Hannibal's eyes to the pieces of himself he knows will most entice.

Will smiles at him, lovely and wide, and rolls his body again, breath hitching as Hannibal's cock presses against his prostate. His lashes flutter and his lips part around a heavy, desperate noise, and he leans forward, plants his hands on Hannibal's chest and ruts against him, and lets loose a needy whine that tugs at a place deep in Hannibal's belly.

"I want you to fuck me," he says, low and snarling. His eyes burn, pupils so wide they are as a chasm, blacker than black, pulling Hannibal in. He surges up, wrapping his hands tight around Will's hips and Will smiles, delighted, that flush on his face turning shades darker as Hannibal leans in and noses at his neck.

Will moans, rutting his cock against Hannibal's belly, digs in with nails and tightens his thighs. "I -, Hannibal, _please_ ," he whispers, so soft, so desperate. "Please, fuck me. I want you to come in me. I need it."

Hannibal's lip twitches, wanting to bite down into this beautiful, savage creature that has crawled into his bed. He helps Will to move, cupping his shaking thighs as Will rides him, panting. He's starting to sweat, the sheen of it a delicious aftertaste to him, and Hannibal growls, turns his head and finds Will's throat and bites down.

Will goes still, shuddering in relief, and clutches at Hannibal's nape, around his shoulders, as he comes all over Hannibal's stomach. Still, he is moaning, whispering desperately 'Please' and 'Need it, need you', and Hannibal wants, more than anything in the world, to see him satisfied.

He growls, and yanks Will's hips up, forcing them to separate. Will snaps his teeth together, wild with outrage, and Hannibal throws him onto his back on the bed and puts his hand on Will's throat, forcing him to lie still.

Will's nostrils flare, wide, his chest heaving with a ragged breath, and Hannibal squeezes, just a little, until he calms. "Get on your hands and knees," he commands, and Will whimpers with relief, nodding. Hannibal lets him go, watches as Will rolls and settles, just as Hannibal ordered him to.

But that won't do – if his beautiful boy wants to get mounted, he'll need to be lower. Hannibal works his hand against Will's nape, forcing him to his elbows, then his chest. Will shivers, gasping, head turned to meet Hannibal's eyes and they shine. Hannibal smiles, leans down and kisses him once, chaste, before he moves into place behind Will.

He tuts, and forces Will's hips to arch up, kicks his knees apart until the angle is better and the height is perfect. Will is a mass of trembling static, muscles working to force himself back but unable to due to Hannibal's grip on him.

"What do you want, Will?" Hannibal growls, demanding.

Will moans, drags his nails through his hair, tugs since Hannibal isn't doing it for him. He whines, so sweetly, and arches. "Please," he gasps, and Hannibal huffs, but lets Will feel the drag of his cockhead on the backs of his warm thighs – a tiny reward.

"You'll have to do better than that, darling," he murmurs. He drags his hand in, curls every finger but one, and slides it into Will, relishing the sound of Will's weak, disappointed groan as he tightens up and tries to fuck back. He pushes in, curls his finger down until he finds Will's prostate and brushes over it, earning another series of needy noises from Will. "Tell me."

" _Fuck_ ," Will whispers, tugging on his hair. He turns his head, showing Hannibal the stain of red on his cheek, the darkness in his eyes. "Please, fuck me. I need it."

Hannibal smiles, and pulls his finger out, wrapping his hand around his cock instead. Will tenses in readiness, breath catching, and his eyes close as Hannibal aligns himself and starts to push in – there is something Will does, when he's like this, that conjures impatience, and renders Hannibal unable to tease as much as he normally does.

He slams in, deep and hard, their hips connecting with a loud noise and Will whimpers, spasming around Hannibal's cock. Hannibal prowls over him, on his feet and braced with a hand at Will's shoulder, the other by his head as he puts all of his weight behind his thrusts. Will is shaking, gasping, unable to breathe and barely able to bear the force of them, but he's trying, clawing frantically at the sheets and moaning every time Hannibal growls.

He is sensitive, but Hannibal can _taste_ how much he wants it. He growls, leaning down, dragging his nose along Will's sweaty skin, breathing him in deeply.

Will rises up to him as best he can, shaking finely. "Please," he gasps, and bears down around Hannibal so tightly. " _Please_ , please, come in me. Fill me up."

"Oh, my sweet boy," Hannibal breathes, speared by Will's plaintive, needy cry. He grabs Will's hips, slams deep and forces Will onto his stomach, nails digging into him as he fucks in, and in again, and comes with a harsh moan. Will's ass is greedy, clenching up tight around him as Hannibal's thighs bracket his hips, forcing him to stay down.

He growls, runs a hand up to Will's hair, fists and yanks and leans in to kiss his open, pink mouth. Will moans into it, still riding the high, his hands pushed in front of him to brace him against their pillows, lifting his ass to force Hannibal to stay planted deep until he's finished.

"You beautiful, divine creature," Hannibal whispers when the kiss ends, because he cannot possibly be quiet. He pets over Will's flank, slides under his shivering chest, flattens over his heart and lifts him so Hannibal can bite at his neck. Will flinches, gasping, and turns his head so Hannibal can kiss him again. " _Will_."

Will reaches back, grabs gracelessly at Hannibal's hair, keeping him in place. "Stay in me," he demands, and Hannibal shivers, growling, but doesn't make any move to pull out. Will's other hand covers Hannibal's over his racing heart, their fingers lacing and Will's gripping tight. "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere, darling," Hannibal promises. How could he bear to part from Will, after a performance like that?

Will sighs, and smiles, heavy-lidded and satisfied. He kisses Hannibal once more and pulls him over his back, limp under Hannibal's weight. Hannibal drags the blankets over them, keeping them warm and cocooning them both in darkness.

He smiles, and nuzzles Will's bitten neck. Will shivers for him, letting loose a soft, encouraging noise, and Hannibal drags a hand through his hair, tugs to hear him gasp, and his smile widens when Will's body clamps down, seeking, eager.

"Don't worry, my sweet boy," he promises. "I'll make sure you're nice and full before I let you leave this bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to take a nap 'cause I was exhausted and Will crawled into my Goddamn headspace and I didn't even get to sleep, he needed to be topped so bad and now we're both //suffering//


	11. Deepthroating

With Will, the opportunity for pleasure is endless. Simply by existing, he ignites Hannibal's soul and soothes the monster in his chest. Hannibal had told him, months before, that even seeing Will's pleasure was enough for him at times, knowing that it is _his_ touch, his kiss, his body that Will craves, that satisfies him – that it is a decadent delight, one he gorges himself on frequently.

Now, he is gorging himself on Will. On his knees in the study, his hands on Will's hips, working his mouth languidly up and down Will's cock. Will is panting, carding strong, callused fingers through his hair, one fisted at the top where it grows longest, the other cradling Hannibal's skull as he sinks down, taking his lover all the way to the hilt, before pulling back up.

His neck aches and his lips are tender, his jaw has begun that sharp, dull throb of soreness, but those are paltry distractions in the wake of Will's soft gasps, the tremble of his thighs, the subtle arch of his hips as he chases Hannibal's mouth before gravity tugs him back down.

"Hn, _fuck_ ," Will growls, when Hannibal seals his lips around his blushing cockhead and sucks, hard, only to take him all the way, past his gag reflex, nose pressed to Will's dark pubic hair and his cock piercing Hannibal's tender throat. Will cranes his head back, showing his neck, his hips giving a soft judder as he leaks, sharp, over the back of Hannibal's throat and along his tongue when Hannibal pulls up again.

Hannibal hums, tonging along the slit of his cock, tasting the salty precum leaking there. Will gets wet at the head when he's aroused, and after years on Hannibal's diet he tastes wonderful, like vitality. He moans, lashes fluttering when Will tugs on his hair, a plaintive whine eked from behind clenched teeth as he tries to get Hannibal to take him all in again.

Hannibal obeys with a wanton growl, sliding his hands down to Will's thighs to feel them tremble under his touch. Will is close, he's leaking heavily now, chafing Hannibal's tender throat. Speaking will be difficult when he's done, but he knows Will likes the sound of his voice after taking Will's cock, likes the rasp and swollen clench of his muscles as Will sinks deep.

" _God_ , you're so -. _Shit_." Will lifts his head, meets Hannibal's eyes when Hannibal raises his own. Will is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, curling his hair at the temple, his lips parted and red from biting them, breathing heavily. His other hand leaves Hannibal's neck, thumbs at the corner of his mouth instead and he moans when Hannibal swallows, letting him feel the clench of his jaw and the flex of his throat.

Hannibal's lips twitch in a smile, he pulls back so just the head is in his mouth, lavishing attention on Will's cockhead, tongue at the sensitive place just beneath the head. He tilts his head, parts his teeth wide and lets Will slide along the innards of his cheek, against his fingers, and Will shivers, growling low.

"Fuck," he hisses, palming Hannibal's bulging cheek. His hips twitch up, his cock spurts another heavy dollop of precum along Hannibal's molars, and Hannibal tilts his head and takes him deep again, as deep as he can. "Yeah, just like that, _fuck_ , just…"

He gasps, tilting his head up again. His stomach sinks in and his thighs tighten, and Hannibal hums, letting the vibrations of his throat provide that last, extra edge. Will moans as he comes, spilling thick and hot down Hannibal's throat. Hannibal swallows the first load but keeps the rest in his mouth, letting it pool and wet Will's cock, sealed tight behind his lips.

He sucks until Will groans, going limp, and then he pulls off. Will lets him go, panting, and Hannibal rears up, takes Will's chin and angles him up, tilts his head and presses his lips to Will's open, gasping mouth. He parts his teeth and licks into Will's mouth, sharing Will's come between them. Will likes tasting himself, tasting Hannibal, and Hannibal loves the way he trembles and whines when he's allowed a taste, the dirty-hot thrill of sharing something so visceral, fresh as a kill.

Will cups his face, kisses him deeply, and drinks his fill until their mouths are liberally coated. Then, his hands calm, rubbing at Hannibal's sore jaw and his lips gentle, kissing with brazen and soft heat. Hannibal growls, and pushes his knees apart, slotting between them. He puts a hand on Will's throat to feel him swallow, digs in with nails to the bruises and bite marks on Will's neck.

"Fuck me," he says, when they part, both a heavy curse and a desperate plea. Hannibal smiles, wolfish and wide.

"Oh, my sweet boy," he purrs, hoarse and snarling. Will shivers when his other hand touches Will's slick cock, strokes once just to feel Will arch up against him. "I fully intend to."


	12. Daddy Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with a liberal dose of praise :D

Hannibal knows he's pushing Will to his limit, tonight. It's only fair – they had been separated for three days, Will called out to Texas to investigate a string of home invasions with a rather perverted twist in how the killer was handling the bodies of the men he targeted. It had taken Will that long to build the profile and then Jack had called him home.

Hannibal might have had something to do with that. In the absence of his mate, driven by feral longing, he had been compelled to remind the best and brightest of the FBI that he was still at large, and would not be forgotten. Will had returned from his crime scene with a dazed, adoring look in his eyes, had taken Hannibal in his arms and kissed him, whispered 'I missed you too' against his mouth.

Hannibal had snarled, in no mood for gentleness, and hauled Will upstairs. Hours later, and they are here, Will tied by his wrists and ankles to the bed, on his back, watching Hannibal as Hannibal rides him, selfishly chasing his own pleasure as he commands Will to hold himself back, to restrain himself while Hannibal took what he wanted.

He settles, sighing deeply as he feels Will fill him, his hips canted to get Will's cockhead against his prostate in a light tease, and trails his fingers idly through the mess he has already left on Will's stomach. That was an hour ago, and Hannibal is hard again. He uses the slick to stroke himself and Will moans when he clenches up with pleasure, his head tilting back, eyes falling closed.

Hannibal growls, leans over him and bites savagely at his nipple, sharp enough to welt. Will cries out, arching up into it, his cock twitching inside Hannibal, fingers and toes curling, stomach sinking in as he fights not to come.

"Look at me," he commands, and Will's eyes open obediently, though they take a moment to focus and sharpen. Hannibal smiles, and smooths his thumb over the tender bite mark. "Good boy. You're being so good, Will."

Will whimpers, every inch of him shaking, blanketed with sweat. He is beautiful, ascended in his delirious need. Almost, _almost_ to the point of breaking. Hannibal wants to tear him apart, crush and reshape him into a beast that sits perfectly in his own chest so that they will never be parted.

He drags his nails over the raised scar of 'Mylimasis', standing out a dark pink on Will's rib. His lips purse and he tilts his head, eyeing Will's other side. "Perhaps I will mark you here, as well," he says idly, rocking his hips as Will moans, heaving up into the touch as Hannibal rubs his thumb below his other rib, right before his flesh turns soft. "I will carve 'Maniškis', here. Do you know what that means?"

Will shivers, and shakes his head.

Hannibal smiles, and brings that same thumb to Will's mouth, pulls his lower lip down to show his teeth and makes sure Will meets his eyes when he says; "It means 'Mine'." Will's lashes flutter, but do not close. "Because you are mine, aren't you, Will? My gorgeous, beloved, darling boy."

Will moans, a weak, fractured sound. His wrists twist against his bonds, wanting to reach, to touch. " _Yes_ ," he breathes. Gasps as Hannibal slides his thumb down to his chin, flattens his hand across Will's throat and tightens. "I'm yours."

Hannibal sighs, deeply satisfied whenever Will says it is so. Like the seasons, like the sunrise, he knows it is true, but it still shakes him to his core whenever Will confesses. He tightens his hand on his cock, starts up a slow, grinding rhythm as Will writhes beneath him, crying out when Hannibal gets tight.

"Please," he gasps, tilting his chin up, exposing more of his throat. "Please, daddy." Hannibal shivers, biting his lower lip. "I want -. I can't -."

Hannibal squeezes, until Will cuts himself off. "You can, and you will," he says sternly, in a way that he knows makes Will's heart stutter. He feels the telltale rise of him, Will's hips grinding desperately against him. "You want to be good for me, don't you, my darling boy? I've indulged your disobedience in the past. Not tonight."

Will's lashes flutter, he gasps and moans when Hannibal lets his neck go. His arms tug at the restraints and he cries out when Hannibal tenses. " _Fuck_." He's almost there, almost -. "I'll be good. I'll be good, I'll be…" He repeats it like a mantra, a low and hypnotic thing that feels like a tide. Hannibal wants to follow it, wants to drown in Will.

He quickens his hand, clenching his jaw when Will growls, his eyes brightening with anticipation. For he surely knows Hannibal's tells, can read them as easily as Hannibal reads Will. He tips his head back, sighing in pleasure, twists his hand at the head of his cock and tugs, grinding down on Will's cock as he comes with a harsh groan. It's his third orgasm of the night and he doesn't spill much, barely a dribble, but the relief is powerful enough to curl his toes, makes him want to collapse, lax and sated, over his trembling boy.

He corrects himself, and smears his dirty hand over Will's panting mouth. Grabs his chin and meets his eyes. "You've been _very_ good, Will," he murmurs, and Will whimpers, clenching his fists. Hannibal catches the movement, and smiles, wide, showing his teeth. "Did you touch yourself when you were gone?"

Will shakes his head. "No daddy," he gasps. "No, I swear, I didn't."

"Mm, because you're mine, is that right? You know you shouldn't touch yourself when I'm not there to see it."

He nods, frantically. He tugs, and arches, desperate now. Breaking, breaking, the fissures of him glow on his sweaty, flush skin like welts. Hannibal leans down, pulls Will's head up and kisses him fiercely, drinking down his ragged moan.

"Please," Will begs against his mouth. "Please daddy. Can I come?"

Hannibal's smile widens, he meets Will's eyes, and leans down for one more kiss. "Yes, sweet boy," he whispers, and Will moans, trembling. "Come for me. Show me how much you missed me."

It only takes that – Will rolls his hips, shoving his cockhead against Hannibal's sensitive prostate, and comes with a high-pitched cry, trembling as he empties himself inside Hannibal. Hannibal watches his face, enthralled with the tightening around Will's eyes, the lax spread of his lips. The _relief_ , painting his face as his orgasm overwhelms him. Will's cock pulses, spilling enough that it leaks around him as he thrusts, panting and whimpering his thanks when Hannibal leans down and kisses him again.

"Good boy," he purrs, as Will shakes and whines against his mouth. He straightens up and lifts, gasping at the feeling of Will slipping out of him, a heavy pool of his seed following and dirtying their thighs. Will's nostrils flare at the scent of it, and he lies still as Hannibal unties his ankles, first, then his wrists, rubbing at them as Will sits up.

Will sags against him, kissing open-mouthed and sloppy at his neck. "Thank you," he breathes, heavy with a relief not just physical. Hannibal has held a singular ability to pull him back from dark places, from the hunts Jack sends him on.

He smiles, and cups Will's face, and kisses him. "Rest," he murmurs, and Will nods, his lashes already low, heavy with exhaustion. "When you are ready, I will draw us a bath. There is no hurry, darling. Take your time."

Will nods, and kisses him again. They settle on the bed, ignoring the tacky cling of come and lubricant, and Hannibal holds Will tightly, breathing in the scent of him, as Will falls asleep. It is a quick descent, and Hannibal finds himself, despite his intentions to lie awake and bask in Will's presence, following swiftly after.


	13. Outdoor Sex

Will has his feet up, burrito'd in a thick, warm blanket as he sits on Hannibal's back patio, nursing a cup of coffee, watching the crew Hannibal hired as they lay down the perimeter and begin to a dig a foundation for the kennel. It will be quite large, and Will smirks to himself, thinking of Hannibal's neighbors complaining about the garish structure, not to mention the new introduction of various dog noises. They're good animals, and rarely bark at nothing, but some of them have wolf blood in them and can howl at night.

A shadow falls across him, robbing Will of what little sunlight he'd managed to seek out, and he blinks, casting a playful glare Hannibal's way. But he smiles, and scoots to one side, making enough room on the small bench, their backs to the wall, and Hannibal has a blanket of his own, larger than Will's, cocooned around his body and long enough to then cross over Will's lap as well. Will sets his coffee down, half-finished, and mimics Hannibal with his blanket so that they can share body heat, and their fingers lace under the blankets.

He snorts, and Hannibal looks at him with a raised brow. His cheeks are pale in the cold and the harsh sunlight makes his eyes look more amber than red, today. "All we're missing is a fire and some s'mores," Will teases, delighted when Hannibal's nose wrinkles at the idea of eating something so pedestrian. Or maybe it's the mess he protests. Either way Will is sure he could persuade him to make an exception, even if it meant having marshmallows made from scratch, chocolate imported from Switzerland and graham crackers crushed from the rarest field of wheat from blah-de-blah island that costs a thousand dollars a bag to get.

Hannibal's hand slides across to Will's lap, taking his chilled fingers and curling them between both palms, and Will hums, low-lidded, and rests his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder, his eyes out on the workers again. He huffs. "I could have built it myself you know."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his hair.

"I know," he replies, "but this way the work will be done faster." Will smirks at that, because he knows what Hannibal is really saying; the sooner the kennel is done, the sooner the last of Will's (meagre to start) protests will be done and Will can move in with him. "Besides, I do not think you wish to torture me."

Will raises his head, meets Hannibal's eyes. There is something playful in them, shining in sunlight. He tilts his head. "Torture you?" he repeats.

Hannibal smiles, wide, toothy. He squeezes Will's warmed hands, and his eyes drop to Will's mouth. His fingers slide in, teasing, testing, and Will sucks in a breath, hissing out a soft warning because there are workers _right there_. He looks over, but they're professionals and they're focused on doing their Goddamn job. They haven't paid attention to him all morning and they're not going to start now.

"The kitchen window looks right out here," Hannibal purrs, and nudges Will's face forward so he can nip at Will's ear. "Despite the weather, I imagine it's warm work. Watching you labor in the sunlight, as sweat stuck your clothes to you…" He worms his fingers between Will's thighs and Will startles, a soft whine falling from his mouth before he can swallow it back, lest it draw attention. "Being able to see you, be so near you, and watch you blush." His fingers curl knuckles working up to cup the growing swell of Will's cock in his jeans and Will's breath hitches. "Hear those delightful noises." He laughs, lowly. "You make the same noises in our bed. Were you aware of that?"

Will was. Is. He does it on purpose, he does it when he's helpless. Hannibal isn't the most difficult person to train, and Will can lay triggers and snares as easily as his monster.

Hannibal flattens his hand over Will's erection and Will gasps, clenching his jaw and digging his feet behind the armrests of the chair he propped his heels up, dragging it to him with a sharp scraping sound. It makes Hannibal pause, and even one of the workers stops and looks their way. His gaze doesn't linger – a simple acknowledgement and registry of a new sound before his attention turns – but Will can't help thinking everyone sees like he does, and he sees how closely they are pressed and the sudden flush on Will's face and he _knows_.

He growls. "I'm not an exhibitionist, Hannibal."

The bastard laughs, and kisses Will's warm neck. "How fortunate, then, that I do not intend to display you," he replies. Yet he does pause, seeking Will's enthusiastic consent before he continues. Will swallows, calms his breathing, and wraps his hand around Hannibal's wrist, double-tapping against the knot of bone at the joint.

_Good. Green. Keep going._

Hannibal sighs, and kisses Will's shoulder, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Will lifts his hips, rolling so that Hannibal can tug them down, just enough to reach in and ease his erection free from his clothes.

Will's eyelids flutter and he swallows harshly as Hannibal's dry, warm palm wraps around his sensitive flesh, teasing him free. Hannibal straightens, then, and makes a motion like he's correcting the blankets, creating a series of innocuous bulges in their cocoon that hides the slow movements of his hand.

Will braces his free hand on the bench, tensing up and leasing a guttural noise when he realizes this will be slow. This will linger, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Hannibal's hand on him is languid, almost idle, like he's not really paying attention and Will can't roll his hips up, can't tip his head back without making himself obvious.

Hannibal lets out an amused, aloof noise. "Look at them work," he murmurs, and Will blinks, slow and dazed, and sets his eyes on the crew of men as they dig through the stubborn, cold ground. The foundation will be cement, big enough to hold all of Will's dogs and an extra space and Will doesn't know if Hannibal has Alana's dog, Applesauce, in mind, or thinks Will might pick up another stray at some point, but he hasn't asked. "I wonder if I could get you to make one of those sweet noises for me. I wonder if I could drive you past propriety, past control, and make you moan loud enough that they wouldn't be able to ignore you."

Will hisses, half a laugh. "Are you offended that they aren't paying attention?" he growls.

Hannibal hums. "You blind me to all else, when you are near me," he replies plainly, like people just _say_ that kind of thing. "I find it puzzling that others are not so affected."

Will gasps as Hannibal twists his wrist, swipes his thumb through the little drop of precum on Will's cockhead and works it down. "Maybe I only wish to blind you."

At that, Hannibal smiles, and turns his head. The adoring look in his eyes belies the wolfish grin, the way his hand tightens and turns, fingers working down along the base of Will's cock to put pressure on his balls. He opens his fingers, rolls them gently, and presses at the smooth stretch of skin just behind them and Will's hips jolt, up, seeking. He can't look away from Hannibal and he doesn't want to.

He stares, lets Hannibal's gaze take over his own. Hannibal's pupils are wide despite the sunlight, Will can see the crease of his own brow, the helpless part of his lips, lets himself be overtaken by Hannibal's powerful desire, his ravenous hunger. He can't stop himself wrapping a hand around his cock and Hannibal's fingers, guiding him to a faster rhythm, more pressure at the head.

Hannibal hums, slow-blinks, shows his teeth. Will groans, shuddering, and his forehead falls onto Hannibal's shoulder as he shivers, spilling with a helpless whine over their hands, coloring the innards of the blanket in a dark stain. He flushes, covering it as best he can, and kicks the chair out harsh enough that it shrieks and falls onto its side.

Hannibal laughs, and nips the top of his red ear. "Beautiful," he whispers, and Will isn't sure whether he wants to hit him or kiss him. Probably both.

"You're gonna pay for that."

Hannibal huffs, delighted, and nuzzles his hair. "I'm looking forward to it."


	14. Home Video

"Be quiet, baby, this is my favorite part."

Hannibal growls, the red-wine flush on his cheeks spread down his neck, to his chest, like a drop of blood in whiskey. He is a gorgeous, trembling monument of strength, caged in Will's arms, legs spread out wide across Will's thighs as Will touches him. He is taller, so Will's chin can only just hook over his shoulder, both of them watching with dark eyes on the glow of Hannibal's iPad.

The hand lightly teasing Hannibal's cock squeezes, traps his leaking cockhead in a tight grip that makes Hannibal blow out a heavy breath, shivering as Will's other hand tightens over his chest. He pinches a nipple, pulls until the muscle beneath aches, and lets it go. Will is fully clothed beneath him, dressed in something fine and expensive that Hannibal purchased for him. He's definitely wrinkling the expensive suit pants as he writhes, naked and sweating in Will's lap.

Will growls, and bats his palm against Hannibal's cockhead, forcing him to go still with a harsh inhale. "Be still," he commands. "Watch."

Hannibal settles, tries to calm his racing heart, and one of his hands presses over Will's, encouraging him to tug and tease more at his pink, sensitive nipple. On the screen, he watches himself get fucked, slowly, deeply. He clenches up, recalling with perfect clarity how it felt to have Will inside him, fucking him from behind in lazy, languid strokes. So often when Will is the one in control, things are always very rough, fierce and fast, or so achingly stretched out that Hannibal is breathless by the end of it. There is no middle ground with Will.

He'd been bound with his hands at the small of his back, thick silk ties the color of old blood – a color he knows Will prefers for him; red and black. Face down, hips raised for Will to take what he wanted and oh, how he _adores_ when Will is this distant, collected thing, driving Hannibal to madness and beyond it as he works Hannibal over.

With the camera so close to Will's face, he can hear over the speakers as Will breathes, rough and ragged, remembers how it felt to have Will gripping him tightly – and, there, a tense moan as Hannibal had clenched up around him, aching to get him deeper. He can see the shine of lubricant on Will's cock, on his pink rim.

On screen, Will whispers a soft 'Fuck' that has Hannibal writhing in his lap, working his hips to try and get Will's hand to stroke him again. Will huffs, shows his teeth in a grin at Hannibal's shoulder, but obeys the silent plea, tightening his hand and stroking slow, to match the rhythm of his fucking on screen.

"Maybe this will make an appearance in one of your sketchbooks," Will growls. Hannibal matches the sound, stomach tightening as he thinks of his drawings of Will – the one with Will splayed out on their bed, dead to the world, innocent and soft in sleep. The one with his leg hitched up, showing Hannibal's bite and his sweet, exposed hole. The one from his memory, Will's head tipped back and face a mask of feral lust, blood dripping from his teeth.

He has never considered drawing himself past anatomy study, but this is making him want to. He imagines Will lifting him, now, pulling his cock from those expensive suit pants and sinking into Hannibal right now, giving him a taste of what he's seeing. He's open and ready for it, would take Will so willingly, so eagerly. He grinds his hips down and hears Will puff a breath, feels his lashes flutter as Hannibal puts pressure on his erection.

On screen, one of Will's big hands comes down on Hannibal's ass – a single hit, no more painful than his bite. Hannibal clenches in memory and Will laughs into his ear.

"You get so tight when I hurt you, baby," he growls, and quickens the pace of his hand. Will's hand slides from his nipple, into the exposed flesh of his thighs. Digs in with nails to raise little pink spots. "Feels so good, almost as good as when you come around my cock. When I make you howl for me."

" _Will_ ," Hannibal breathes. "Please…"

He doesn't know what he's begging for – just arches into Will's capable hands and gives himself over to Will's design. Will always knows what he wants, can read him like no one else can, could, or ever will.

On screen, Will pulls out, and Hannibal mimics the high, aggravated sound of demand that escaped him at the time. He hates it when Will leaves him, once he's inside – like there is something hollow and cavernous in him that is only satisfied by Will, and refuses to let go of him until Will fills him full enough to drip.

"I know, baby." Will kisses Hannibal's neck, both of them watching as, on screen, Will flips Hannibal over, revealing his flushed face, the sheen of sweat on his neck, his hair wild and ruffled and his cock hard against his stomach. He looks desperate, unhinged, and Will tells him so, petting through his hair as the camera catches when Will forces himself back inside, splitting Hannibal apart again

They both know what comes next. Will snarls, commands 'Come for me, baby', and Hannibal does, because he cannot resist Will when he growls like that. Hannibal comes in the video, spilling thick and hot with a loud, guttural sound, and Will drops the camera so that it falls into the sheets, shows the obscene pour of Hannibal's come down his flanks and onto the bed.

"That's it, good boy," Will snarls, both on screen and in his ear, live. Hannibal remembers what Will had looked like, after, pushing his thighs up and fucking him roughly, harsh enough to hurt, mounting him like a wild beast. Forcing him through the last aftershocks until Will had emptied himself into his body with one long, low snarling sound.

"Will," he whispers, trembling and tense in Will's arms as Will's strokes slow again, teasing and taunting and so maddeningly loose.

Will laughs. "Let's watch it again."

Hannibal breathes out, and nods, content to resign himself to another round of blissful torture, until Will is satisfied. Will laughs again, and picks up the remote, returning the video to the beginning. 


	15. Breeding Kink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> outdoor sex + primal play/chasing + breeding because I........have a kink

Will lets out a sharp cry as a heavy weight catches him from behind, a strong arm wrapped around his waist and throwing him onto his side on the rough forest floor. A knotted root digs into his flank and he hisses, rolling to his hands and knees to try and push himself up, but another weight plummets down onto his shoulders, sending him to his elbows.

A growl, rough and low, rumbles against his ear and Will shivers, whining sharply. The ground is cold beneath his knuckles, hard-packed ground making his knees and elbows ache, but Hannibal's weight chases it away, the heat of him blisters. Both of them are out of breath, panting, and Will rears up as one of Hannibal's large, strong hands wraps around the front of his throat, hauling him to his hands, forcing his back into a sharp downward curve so that Hannibal can bite at his ear.

"Too slow," he purrs, and Will snaps his teeth together, snarling. Hannibal laughs, shoves two of his fingers into Will's mouth and Will edges his teeth against his knuckles, threatening to bite – he knows it will merely incense Hannibal, make him fuck his fingers deeper, get Will's tongue wet with blood if he bites down hard enough.

"Hush, pretty thing," Hannibal murmurs, and he nuzzles Will's sweaty hair, his free hand sliding down Will's bare chest, flattening over a nipple. He presses it between two of his fingers, tugs until Will whines around the ones in his mouth. It hurts, sends sharp fissures of pain into Will's chest like there's a live wire connecting each of his ribs together, and he arches back, tries to escape it.

Hannibal laughs again, and shoves his fingers deeper, until Will chokes and goes limp with a desperate sound. Hannibal twists his nipple harshly, tugs at the pink bud until even the air makes it ache. His fingers taste like dirt and sweat and Will tongues between them, teeth clacking against the golden wedding ring around Hannibal's finger, Will's nostrils flared wide, teeth bared as he tries to breathe.

Hannibal makes a sound – a condescending, falsely sympathetic tut – and pulls his fingers out. Will gasps, and turns his head and snarls, pawing at Hannibal's hand on his chest until Hannibal growls, pulls back from Will's nipple and grabs his nape instead, slamming him down onto the ground.

Will moans, arching up, desperately, when he feels Hannibal's erection drag against his ass. He's wearing an old pair of sweatpants – 'Something you won't mind getting torn' – and it barely feels like a barrier at all. Hannibal is hot and hard against him, and Will whines, wanting it, _wanting_ it.

Hannibal's nails dig into him and he shoves at Will's hips, pushing his belly flat to the ground. He straddles Will's thighs, forcing his legs together, and Will whimpers when he pulls the waistband down, baring Will's ass but not doing anything to free his cock. Will only has the choice, flat as he is, to be still or rut against the cold, unrelenting ground.

Hannibal drags his hand up, fists in Will's hair, makes him rise like a cobra and bites his shoulder. "Poor, sweet boy," he whispers, right into Will's ear, bites the shell of it and Will shivers, trembling, but unable to sag because of Hannibal's tight grip. "You must be exhausted, darling, having to outrun all those other men who didn't have the stamina or skill to keep up with you."

Two of Hannibal's fingers, the ones wet from Will's mouth, press against his hole without warning, but Will relaxes, letting him in easily, groaning when his hips sink down and only meet cold earth in response. Hannibal pushes in brutally, taking Will's slackness as eager acceptance.

He growls. "I would have chased you for a thousand more miles," he says, "for the right to mount you." Will shivers, eyes closing, a ragged moan spilling from him as Hannibal pulls his fingers out, spits on his hand and slicks up the head of his cock.

He moves forward, guides his cock against Will, and pushes in.

"To breed you."

"Oh _fuck_." Hannibal lets his hair go and Will collapses to the ground, lifting his hips in an eager plea for Hannibal to get deeper into him, to do everything he just said. Hannibal lets out a low, viscerally pleased sound, his nails dug tight to Will's hipbones, weighted over him, his teeth at Will's nape as Will tugs his hair up and bares the flushed skin.

High on adrenaline, on being chased, Will is shaking, not just from cold, but from the brutal way Hannibal fucks into him, no better than an animal. Being chased in the woods by his monster, being conquered and filled like that is something Will only dreamed about for a long time.

Before they got married. Before someone made a joke about children and he'd seen the wickedly intrigued gleam in Hannibal's eye.

Before, on their wedding night, Hannibal had taken him to bed, spread him out, licked and fingered him open and then fucked Will so slowly, so achingly deep it had hurt, growled into his ear how beautiful Will would look – not pregnant, but in heat. Shivering and desperate for him, his wild, perfect mate.

It's not something Will had really considered before – being chased, of course, being hunted? Even better. But being _bred_ …

Hannibal bites down on his neck, flinging Will back into the here and now, and he whimpers quietly against one fist as Hannibal's hands slide to his stomach, push up, cavalier with muscle and organs, and Will moans when Hannibal fucks _deep_ , and he can feel the pressure of him, sliding against Hannibal's hands. The hard length of him, and it's like he's fucking into his own hands through Will, and Will is _full_ , so fucking full, and so hard he's throbbing tenderly between his legs.

He tugs on his hair with his free hand, screams into his knuckles, rolls his hips as Hannibal moans and growls above him, an untamed monster and savage beast and _God_ , he's going to come. With nothing but Hannibal's cock in him and his teeth buried in Will's flesh and the _idea_ of Hannibal fucking him so full Will's body has no choice but to swell with it.

He claws at the dirt, nails bent back, fingertips smarting from the cold, and shudders as he spills, staining his sweatpants on the inside in a dark, hot pool of come. Hannibal feels huge inside him as he spasms, it hurts, it _hurts_ -. " _Hannibal_."

Hannibal presses deep, goes still, and his hands fly to Will's wrists, pinning him down as he rolls his hips one last time and comes with a short, sharp noise, like it hurts him as well. His thighs tremble around Will's, his heart pounding against Will's back, his breaths heavy and loud in his ear. After a moment, he relaxes, petting up Will's arms and nuzzling his neck, and he pulls out in a sharp motion.

Will gasps, shaking like an aftershock. Hannibal's hands are wide on his ass, spreading him apart, and Will clenches, moaning as he feels a slick trail of come leak from him. After a moment, Hannibal gives a considering hum, and then Will gasps again at the feeling of something blunt and warm pressing into him, stretching his sensitive rim until it abruptly lessens. He lifts his head and turns, glaring over his shoulder.

"A plug?" he says, too breathless to even pretend to be angry. "Really?"

Hannibal grins at him, unrepentant. "To keep it in," he purrs, and Will shivers when he leans over Will, pets through his hair and kisses his red mouth. "I'll fill you again when we get back home." Will growls, and nips his lower lip.

"Or," Hannibal murmurs, pulling back, his eyes dark, "if you decide to run again."

Will smiles at him, tilts his head into Hannibal's palm and sighs as Hannibal nuzzles him, kissing him again. He tucks his cock back into his trousers and Will huffs, smiling when Hannibal pulls his sweatpants back up to cover Will. He rolls onto his back, sighing at the feeling of the plug inside him – it's a short thing, doesn't even graze his prostate. Not meant to stimulate or arouse; its sole purpose is to keep Will full, to make sure nothing Hannibal left in him leaks back out.

It's a warming thought, and Will lifts his head when Hannibal prowls over him, presses him into the ground and kisses him deeply.

He huffs, flushed and pleased. "You really like the idea, don't you?" he murmurs. Hannibal blinks, and tilts his head, feigning confusion. "Of breeding me."

Hannibal smiles. "A deviance I think we both enjoy," he says, gently tucking Will's hair behind his ear. "Though, perhaps, for different reasons."

Will raises a brow, catches Hannibal's hand and turns his own so Hannibal can see the shine of his wedding ring in the moonlight. He doesn't miss how Hannibal's eyes get big and black, the reflection of the gold burning and solid in his pupils. "You like claiming me," he says. That is no secret.

"Yes," Hannibal says, regardless. He brings Will's hand to his lips and kisses the ring. Breathes out, heavily. "Very much."

Will smiles, and sits up, pulling Hannibal into a kiss. Hannibal sighs against him, purring and proud, and they get to their feet, and walk hand in hand towards the running path. As they go, Will senses Hannibal's anticipation growing – he thinks Will is going to run again. He might; there is a low thrum in his chest, incensed by the moonlight, by the quiet of the trees. It's a lovely night.

He pauses at the forest's edge, and turns to look at his husband. Hannibal meets his eyes, and lifts his brows.

He lets go of Will's hand and Will huffs, reaching behind him and dipping his hand beneath his clothes. He works the plug out carefully, gritting his teeth, and wipes it on his thigh before he hands it back.

Hannibal takes it with a soft protest.

"You'll just have to replace what I lose," Will murmurs, and presses close. Hannibal's pupils go wide again, his nostrils flare at the scent of Will; sex and open air. Will lets him get a good inhale, and kisses his monster's cheek. "Happy hunting, baby."


	16. Frottage

The day is young, though cold, sunlight cascading brightly through the parted curtains and illuminating Hannibal and Will, curled up together on one of the comfortable couches in Hannibal's study. Will is splayed across Hannibal's chest, his eyes closed, just nudging the very edges of sleep as Hannibal pets through his hair. It has been a long couple of days – they have not been separated from each other, but Hannibal's patient load has almost doubled recently, or at least the frequency for the ones he has. It's a rough time of year for the despondent and the lonely.

Before Will, the holidays came for him like clockwork, celebrated with dinner and a show sometimes, but never really meriting any further acknowledgement than conversation and theme when he throws his parties. Will seems to share a similar disinterest beyond an updated diet – sweet meats and honeyed, warm wine and spices suited to the season.

They are at rest, Hannibal's head tilted back, propped at the corner of the couch, one arm resting heavily around Will's shoulders, the other idly petting through his hair to lull him into a doze. Will's arms are wrapped comfortably at the small of his back, palms pressed flat to his spine.

Will shifts with a low hum, mouthing shapeless kisses at Hannibal's chest as he sighs. His lashes flutter and open and he tilts his head up, giving Hannibal a slit of his dark ocean eyes. Will smiles, turns and nuzzles over Hannibal's heart, rolls his body between Hannibal's legs and pushes himself up for a kiss.

Hannibal answers him, hand cupped gently through Will's curls, tugging as Will's lips part, and he tastes like mint chocolate from lunch's dessert, a sweet and thick flavor in his mouth as Hannibal kisses him, pulls forth the flush to Will's cheeks and a brightness to his eyes.

Will plants his hands on either side of Hannibal's hips, his own rolling down – lazy for now, brushing against him like one of Will's dogs as it settles down for the night. They share another kiss, comfortable and slow-rolling like the break of a wave. Hannibal's chest flushes with warmth as Will pulls back for air, only to return for another taste.

Will hums, and drags the nails of one hand down Hannibal's flank, flattens and curls around his hip and puts pressure there, easing Hannibal down against the couch, slouching. Will's strong thighs slot up beneath Hannibal's own and he shivers, growling when Hannibal's arm around his shoulders tightens and he leans up for another kiss.

Hannibal grabs for him, makes to move, but Will shakes his head. "Be still," he breathes, and kisses Hannibal so he cannot argue – not that Hannibal intended to. There is a sweetness to Will like this, drowsy and lazy, his cock stirring between Hannibal's legs until he's hard and rutting with more deliberate motions.

Will sighs again, tilts his head, mouths at Hannibal's warm cheek, his jaw, down to his neck. His other hand finds a mirror spot on Hannibal's other hip, he grinds and growls, all his weight on Hannibal's chest, forcing him to bear it as Will presses him down.

Hannibal parts his thighs a little wider, lifts his hips and gasps when Will's erection shifts against his own, both of them stirring with the same lazy intent. Will makes a soft, pleased sound, nails flexing as he rolls his entire body, digs his knees into the couch and thrusts so that the entire length of his cock slides against Hannibal's.

"I love how easily you respond to me," Will gasps to his neck – a sentiment Hannibal returns. All he has to do is touch Will a certain way and it triggers such a response in him, and Hannibal is not immune to Will's own brand of conditioning.

Will pulls back, nudges their foreheads together, and licks between the seam of Hannibal's lips, growling when they part to let him in.

"It is easy to respond to you," Hannibal replies, petting Will's hair, the nape of his neck. Will shivers, and shows his teeth. "I see a beast in you, the same kind of creature as my own. When it calls for me, I am helpless to resist."

Will smiles, a wild light in his eyes, and kisses Hannibal deeply. His chest tightens, a shiver running down his spine beneath Hannibal's hand as he ruts with steadily increasing speed and pressure. "Do you want to resist?" he asks, breathless now.

"Never," Hannibal growls.

Will gasps, growling, and he nuzzles Hannibal's neck, covering him completely, and Hannibal lets out a wanton snarl of his own, cupping Will's nape, encouraging him to kiss and suck marks onto Hannibal's throat. Will does it, eagerly, pulling soft flesh between his teeth. Threatening a bite. He trembles and shakes, his fingers curling into the top of Hannibal's suit pants and tugging his hips, his belt, forcing Hannibal to lift into his thrusts, for them both to feel the pressure of each other.

Will releases Hannibal's neck and snaps his teeth together, hissing loudly as he goes still, and groans into Hannibal's ear, suddenly warm and wet between Hannibal's thighs. Hannibal smiles, tugs Will up and kisses him and they roll, Will pinned to the back of the couch, then underneath Hannibal as Hannibal straddles him.

Will looks up at him, eyes dark and glazed, and paws frantically at Hannibal's face and shoulders, down to his hips again as Hannibal rolls against him, chasing his own release. He tugs at Hannibal's belt, opens it and undoes the button and zip of his suit pants, dips his warm, callused hand in and pulls Hannibal free from his underwear.

He strokes, tight and quick, using Hannibal's leaking precum to slick the way. He spits on his hand and returns his touch, his gaze low-lidded but fiercely stuck on Hannibal's face as Hannibal growls, bows over him, pins him down and kisses Will until he moans.

"I want you to make a mess," Will demands, breathless now, his eyes shining and his cheeks a dark red. " _Please_."

Will's creature howls, and Hannibal is helpless to resist him.

He comes with a low snarl, biting Will's lip hard enough to sting as he finishes into Will's hand, staining his slacks and the bottom of his shirt. Will had worn it to teach at the University and hadn't undressed since he came home. He can't help thinking that the spray of white only makes the yellowish plaid a little more palatable to his eye.

Will huffs a laugh, like he knows what Hannibal is thinking, and cups his neck with his clean hand, pulling Hannibal down to another kiss. "Perfect," he murmurs to Hannibal's lips, and goes lax, finally, letting Hannibal rest on top of him. Will's arms wrap around him, holding him tight. Neither of them move for a long while after that.


	17. Rimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ spanking :D

"Oh, sweet boy. You need it so badly, don't you?"

Will can barely speak. There are tears in his eyes, stinging and cold at the corners, just barely held in check. He knows Hannibal likes it when he cries, and he turns his head to show them to Hannibal, lets Hannibal see the way they make his eyes shine, grow bright with desperation.

One of his hands is wrapped tight around the base of his cock to stop himself coming, his other one fisting in his hair, tugging desperately to distract himself – though it's digging his own grave deeper, the hard flare of stinging pain doing nothing to calm the hard, hot clench of arousal in his belly.

Hannibal has gone a few days without shaving, and his stubble burns roughly at Will's inner thighs. They're a bright pink, chafing and raw, too sensitive from the slick of Hannibal's mouth and the wet of his tongue as his saliva drips down Will's thighs.

He groans as Hannibal sinks his fingers back inside, crooking them down. He needs, he _needs_ Hannibal inside him, needs it desperately, but he can't find the air to beg and can't make his tongue form the words to ask.

"Hn- _Hannibal_ ," he all he manages.

Hannibal smiles, his fingers pulling out and both hands slicking down the outside of Will's trembling thighs. He leans in and Will groans, biting the pillows beneath him as he feels Hannibal's tongue, strong and wet, lick into him again, parting his sensitive rim and driving as deep as it can go. Hannibal's bottom teeth scrap his pink flesh and he moans, loudly, tightening his hand on the base of his cock.

Hannibal's nails dig into the bruised bottom of Will's thighs, where he'd used his hands to make Will throbbing and sore, pinching and hitting him until Will screamed. The ache of his touch only makes Will burn hotter and he gasps as Hannibal licks him open, keeps him still and hobbled with his pants around his knees.

Hannibal brings a hand down on Will's thigh and he whimpers, arching up against his mouth. "You're so warm, Will," Hannibal breathes, nails in Will's skin, and his teeth part and sink into Will's ass, making him whine. "I can only imagine how it feels inside you. I ache for you."

Will swallows, bows his head, arches in a desperate, silent plea. Hannibal licks over his rim again and finally the tears start to spill, Will sobbing and shivering as Hannibal licks him open and gets him thoroughly wet.

"Please," he gasps. " _Please_."

Hannibal growls, and his tongue leaves, a final nip to Will's sensitive skin before he rises up and pulls Will's ass apart with wide, warm hands. His cockhead drags between Will's raw thighs and he groans, letting go of his cock, reaching back to grab desperately at Hannibal, begging for him to sink inside.

"Good boy," Hannibal murmurs, sliding his hands up to Will's shoulders. "Just stay still. Let me take what's mine."

Will nods frantically, his eyes close and he moans as Hannibal's cockhead finds his slick, open hole, and pushes inside. It feels so _good_ when Hannibal fucks him like this, when he brings Will to the edge of pain and handfeeds him pleasure when it feels like too much. Will parts for him eagerly, spreading his legs, chest low to the bed. He tugs on his own hair and digs his nails into Hannibal's thigh.

Hannibal hums, hands spreading out wide, dragging back down. It's the only warning Will gets before one of his hands comes down, sharply, on Will's bitten cheek. He cries out and tightens, Hannibal huge and hard inside him, and Hannibal brings his hand down again, on the other side. Will shivers and growls, shoulders rolling up as Hannibal spanks him, and every hit makes him tighten, wrenching a guttural, pleased noise from Hannibal as he sinks in deep.

By the fourth hit, Will has started to cry out, his sobs heavy and juddering. His skin is blooming red, darker than his thighs, hot under Hannibal's hands. Hannibal keeps going.

Around the tenth hit, Will chokes out a soft ' _Please_ '. Hannibal stops, his hands pressing flat, soothing the ache. "Mm, fuck, please," Will whispers again, body tight and tense and braced for another blow.

His cock is hard and leaking, his ass slick and wet. Hannibal's smile colors his voice; "Do you want to come, Will?" he asks, raking his nails across the blooming red patches. Will’s breath hitches, but he nods. "What a sweet, darling boy I have. Yes, you may, if you can come just from my hands on you."

It doesn’t take much. Will has been denied for too long, pulled tight enough to snap when Hannibal hits him again. In under ten hits on each cheek Will is tearing his hands through the bedsheets and screaming himself hoarse, his orgasm slamming through him. Hannibal keeps spanking him through it until there’s an even fifteen on each side, and then shoves Will onto the bed and fucks in deeply, ravenous now.

"Good boy," Hannibal hisses, hand flattening across the back of Will’s neck. "So good, Will, I’m so proud of you."

Will chokes on a whine, his thighs rubbing together and stinging, Hannibal's thighs pressed against his sore skin as Hannibal fucks him. "Hannibal," he breathes, wrecked to the core, and reaches back to where Hannibal is holding his neck. Hannibal's hand slides into his, their fingers lacing in Will's hair.

"I'm here, darling," he whispers, and bows down, slamming deep one last time and going still with a punched-out gasp. Will's lashes flutter, then close, his cheeks wet, his thighs wet. The sheets beneath his belly are soaked and warm. He sighs when Hannibal pulls out, and flattens himself over Will, petting down his flank with his free hand as they both tremble.

Hannibal tilts Will's face, kisses his damp cheek, and nuzzles tenderly at his hair. "Beautiful," he whispers, and Will smiles, and turns fully so Hannibal can kiss him.


	18. Scarring

Every part of Will aches. His neck, held tight behind a leather collar, the thing wide and stiff enough that he can't let his head roll back and can't lean forward either. On either side of the collar extends two bars, like a milkmaid's yoke, and from the ends of those are two pieces of black ropes. They extend to the backs of his knees where Hannibal has fashioned a stirrup-like knot, and the knot digs into Will's knee, and it feels like his lower legs are tingling from lack of blood flow, raised up and folded so his knees are almost by his head.

His hands around bound, wrists to his hips in another set of rope, also black, that runs around his hips and down his thighs, pinning his legs open and out and forcing him into a permanent curve that exposes the bottom of his thighs and his ass.

Everything hurts – not the sharp kind of pain like when Hannibal beats him, or spanks him, or uses his teeth. This is a terrible, slow ache. The kind of hurt that your body tricks you into thinking is bearable until suddenly it's not, it's fucking not, but by then it's too late. There's no blood in him, no electricity telling his muscles to move one way or another. He can only lie back and pant, his fingers clenched up tightly around his ropes, tugging.

Hannibal comes to him when he's finished, a pleased smile on his face and a dangerous light in his eyes. "Couldn't run if you wanted to," he murmurs, and leans down, cupping Will's face and kissing his slack mouth. Will whines, voiceless, tries to rear up but the collar stops him and everything hurts, red-hot, when he tries to move. "Even if I were to release you right now, you would be limp." Hannibal's eyes drag down him, his upper lip curls. "Lifeless."

Will's fingers clench.

"Existing totally at my whim."

Hannibal reaches out, curls his fingers around the innards of Will's knee, tugs him outward so Will's thighs spread and his legs bend. Will growls when he does it, panting harshly, and then Hannibal climbs onto the bed and it _hurts_ , having to shift to accommodate the change in pressure, in weight. Hannibal touches his thighs and Will screams behind his teeth.

Hannibal is smiling, and he leans down and kisses Will's bare stomach, right above the band of his underwear. This is not sexual, not this time, though Will has no doubt that by the end they will both be satisfied.

Hannibal reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folding knife and snaps it open. The point of it gleams and Will shivers. Hannibal tilts his head, closes his eyes and nuzzles the 'Mylimasis' carved over Will's rib. His free hand thumbs there, testing the give of his flesh, and his eyes open and survey the stretch of skin on the opposite site. Because of how Will is curled up, his stomach is folded and the skin is not taut, what muscle and fat he has bulging to ruin the sharp edge of bone.

Hannibal kisses his chest, his shoulders pressing to the underside of Will's calves and forcing them up and Will hisses, tensing up. It earns another smile from his monster. "I've changed my mind," he says, and pulls back, and straightens. Will gasps, a weak sound spilling from him because he wants Hannibal to cut him, _wants_ his marks, his claim, and -.

His brain grinds to a standstill as Hannibal brushes his hand, gently, over the raised scar on Will's inner thigh. The thigh he bit into, tore through with his dangerous teeth. The mark there is a dark, purplish color, permanent and slightly bumpy.

"Here," Hannibal breathes, so softly. His eyes lift and lock with Will's. "It is a much more intimate place, wouldn't you agree?"

Will swallows, and nods, and he can't move except to nod and even that makes his skull ache, like his brain is untethered and rattling around inside it. He digs his nails into his own skin and whispers, " _Please_."

Hannibal's smile widens, and he leans down and licks over the scar. His teeth fit perfectly against it – of course they would – and he brings his knife to Will's thigh, fits it just under his bottom lip. Kisses the scar and turns the edge of the knife.

This is sharp pain – almost nothing at first, the blade too fine to feel, and then a flood of it through Will's nerves. He moans, entire body trembling and trying to stay still at the same time, and Hannibal growls, drags the tip of his knife down until the first part of 'M' is made.

'Maniškis'. Will forces himself to lift his head and watch as Hannibal cuts the word into his thigh. It is shallow, just as gentle as he did on Will's ribs, but it bleeds a lot more than the first time. Will's legs tremble, his breathing stutters, and Hannibal growls and drags his thumb over each letter, gathering Will's blood and sucking it from his fingers.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, and Hannibal looks at him, pausing on the second 'I'. Hannibal's eyes are red, reflecting blood and wine, and his upper lip curls and he turns his head, kisses wide over Will's new cuts, sucks the blood into his mouth and swallows with an obscenely loud moan. Will's thighs tense and he whimpers, letting his head fall back and tug at his knees, forcing his legs to stretch further.

Hannibal keeps cutting, and finally, when the accent over the first 's' is done, he rises and cuts through the ropes holding Will's hands in place. Then, the pieces around his knees and Will cries out, blood suddenly rushing to his feet and his hands, tingling in a sharp, painful ache. Hannibal lunges for him and hauls Will up by his hair, kissing him with blood and desire and Will clutches at him, tries to lift his useless legs to wrap around his husband.

"Mine," Hannibal snarls, and then he says it in Lithuanian, in Italian, in French. Again, in English, and Will nods and kisses him, and tries to get his limp hands to grab as he wants.

He can't, but his lips, his tongue, his mouth can move. "Yours," he breathes, and shivers when Hannibal snaps the blade closed and tosses it off the bed, and his hands flatten on Will, one slick with blood, dirtying the sheets and mattress. At this rate they'll have to get a whole new damn bed.

Hannibal unfastens the collar and puts his teeth to Will's neck, sucking another pattern of blushing marks to his skin, and now his hands go to Will's underwear. They do not push, but twist, making Will arch up, a slave to whatever Hannibal wants, as usual.

Will smiles at the thought, too weak to move, helpless except he is not helpless, not with Hannibal. He rakes his nails through Hannibal's hair and tugs him into a kiss. Says, "And you are mine."

Hannibal smiles, and lets out a pleased sound. "Of course, darling. Was that ever in doubt?"

Will laughs, and takes Hannibal's hand, brushing his thumb along his wedding ring. "No," he replies, grinning. "But it's nice to say it sometimes."


	19. High Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've never had magic mushrooms but I HAVE had sex while under the influence of various things, so this is based off my experience of that

The day has been long, and Will barely has the energy to shed his clothes before he collapses in the shower, merely sitting as the hot water beats down on his shoulders. He sighs, running his hands through his hair, tipping his head back to get the water to rush down his chest. His thigh stings, the fresh cuts clotted but still healing. He thumbs at them gently, a shiver running down his spine as he remembers the look in Hannibal's eyes when he'd done it.

He hears the bathroom door open and close, and smiles when Hannibal's head appears from behind the back of the curtain. Hannibal lifts a brow, eyes dropping from where he clearly expected to find Will standing.

Will shrugs, and runs his hands behind his neck. "Tired," he murmurs.

"Would you like to be alone?" Hannibal asks.

Will shakes his head. Even if he did, being alone with Hannibal is not like being with other people. Hannibal smiles, and his head disappears for a moment, before he returns, naked, and pushes the curtain aside before he steps into the bath basin. Will went to the en suite, so the bath is large, and after a moment he turns and changes the shower setting to the bath, the water rushing heavily out of the faucet. He plugs the bath and sighs as it starts to fill, and lets Hannibal pull him close, turning Will so their feet are under the water, Will's back to Hannibal's chest.

Will sighs heavily, tipping his head back on Hannibal's shoulder as Hannibal's large, warm hands settle at the base of his neck, thumbs digging into the knots around his spine and rubbing down. "Did you just get home?" he murmurs.

Hannibal nods. "The pantry was pitifully empty. I wanted to restock."

Will hums, his eyes closing as Hannibal finds a particularly large knot in his shoulder, the one that was stabbed many years ago, and starts to work at it. Will sits forward, giving him room, resting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.

They sit in silence for a long while, Hannibal quietly massaging Will's shoulders and tense neck as the water rises up around them, covering their feet, their legs, their hips. Up to Will's bent knees, and around their chests. Finally Will leans forward and shuts it off, and it is a scalding heat, the open air growing humid, flattening his hair to his face and neck, skin turning pink where the water isn't touching.

"I was thinking of you, while I was out," Hannibal murmurs. Will hums, showing he's listening, but doesn't otherwise move. Hannibal's hands skate down, rubbing now at his lower back. "The man I chose was abusing his animals. Horses, mostly, but I didn't think the type of animal mattered."

Will huffs, upper lip curling, but too tired to growl. "It doesn't," he replies, and sighs. "Thank you."

Hannibal is smiling; Will can hear it. "Of course, darling."

Will sighs. "Can I be selfish, tonight?"

Hannibal's hands do not still, but they gentle abruptly, almost hesitant. As if Will was reading his intentions to be something more direct and lustful than a simple massage. "What do you need?" comes the reply, very soft.

Will sighs again. "I want to just…not think," he replies. He leans back and breathes out heavily when Hannibal embraces him, his arms settling around Will's shoulders as Will leans back against him. "I'm so tired."

Hannibal nods, and kisses Will's neck. Hesitates, then says, "I could give you something." Will blinks, frowning, and turns to press his nose against Hannibal's cheek. "There are types of plants that, when brewed and drank, produce a feeling of calm and joy. They are…hallucinogenic, also, but I will be here in case that wonderful brain of yours wanders too far."

Will huffs a laugh. "You want to drug me?" he asks, teasing. Intrigued.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his hair. "I'm offering the chance to float for a while. I assure you, it's quite safe." His smile widens, and Will lifts his head to see Hannibal's eyes gleaming with mirth. "I _am_ a doctor, after all."

Will laughs, louder this time, and tilts his head. His fingers find Hannibal's and drum against the backs of his hands.

"Okay," he murmurs, and Hannibal lets out a pleased sound, kissing his hair again.

"Excellent," he says, and pushes Will forward, climbing out of the bath with a splash of water. "I shall prepare the tea. Remain here, if you'd like – the warmth of the water will dilate your blood vessels and let it take effect more quickly."

Will huffs a laugh, eyeing Hannibal as he towels off quickly. "You're excited about this."

Hannibal is shameless when he turns, and nods, a wide smile on his face. "It is a rare thing, to see you completely untethered," he replies. Will lifts a brow, sure that Hannibal has seen him _untethered_ plenty of times. "I'll admit I'm curious as to how you will react to them."

Will hums, and leans back in the water, sinking down until it's up to his neck. "I'm sure you have your theories," he murmurs.

Hannibal huffs a laugh. "I do," he replies. "When ingested in a calm, familiar environment, the most common reaction is a euphoric state. Happiness, and relaxation."

Will opens his eyes and looks Hannibal's way. "Are you gonna fuck me while I'm high?"

Hannibal meets his gaze. "Would you like me to?"

Will licks his hips, rakes his eyes up and down Hannibal's body, and nods. He knows how much consent means to Hannibal, and he would never touch Will like that while Will was under the influence of anything without having it given, enthusiastically, beforehand. "Yeah," he breathes.

Hannibal smiles, and goes to him, kneeling down on the outside of the bath. He cups Will's cheek and draws him into a kiss. "Relax, darling," he whispers, and brushes a hand through Will's hair. "I'll return shortly."

Will watches him go, before he sighs and dips below the water, letting it soak into his hair. He pushes himself up again with a gasp, wiping his hands over his face and pushing his hair back, blinking and sitting upright. He leans forward and turns the water back on, scalding hot to keep the temperature up and make it rise a little more.

By the time the tub is full, Hannibal has returned with one of his clear coffee mugs, full of hot, pungent tea. Will turns the water off and leans on the edge of the tub, head tilted as Hannibal kneels down and offers it to him.

He takes it, sniffing experimentally and eyeing the pieces of -. "Mushrooms?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles at him.

"You're giving me magic mushrooms."

"Yes," Hannibal replies with a laugh.

"Where do you even keep these? I've never seen them before."

"You don't often go into the spice cabinet," Hannibal replies coolly. He turns and leans against the wall between the tub and the bathroom sink and cabinet. "If you ventured in there, you would find a lot of strange things, I imagine."

Will huffs, rolls his eyes, and takes a drink of the tea. It doesn't taste great, but it's not awful either – there's a distinctly vegetable taste to it that no amount of green tea or mint will overpower. Still, he drinks, taking a large swallow and letting the hot liquid run down his throat and settle in his stomach.

"How long does it take?" he asks.

Hannibal tilts his head. "On average, twenty to thirty minutes," he replies. "But everyone is different."

Will nods, and takes another drink. The flavor doesn't get any better the more he drinks.

"Have you ever tried these?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles, and shakes his head. "No," he replies, "though I have seen them used on many others. Both recreationally and as part of legitimate studies. The results have proven to vary widely, though I believe it is mostly the mindset of the individual and their location that are the strongest factors."

"Good mood, good trip?" Will asks.

"Exactly," Hannibal replies with a nod. He turns his head and meets Will's eyes. "And I intend to put you in a _very_ good mood."

Will flushes, grinning, and takes another drink. The mug is almost empty, and he sighs, resting it on the edge, before he fixes Hannibal with a look.

Lowers his lashes, and purrs; "Why don't you join me in here?"

Hannibal shakes his head, and reaches out to gently pet through Will's wet hair. "Not yet, darling," he murmurs. "Although I would love nothing more than to see how pink I can make you, for what I have planned, I shall have you on the bed."

Will shivers, lashes fluttering, and he closes his eyes and tilts into Hannibal's petting hand. He drinks the last of the tea and sets the mug down by Hannibal's hip, before he turns and settles in the tub again with a soft sigh.

He waits, and Hannibal pets him, until the sensation of the water on his body suddenly becomes…more. Thicker, like being coated in honey. He lifts his head and opens his eyes, marveling when he looks at the water. There is a shimmer to it, glistening with extra colors. He cups his hands in it and lifts, and laughs at the rainbow edges of the water droplets as they run down his hands and arms.

He turns to look at Hannibal, and gasps.

"You're… _glowing_ ," he whispers.

Around Hannibal there is a sheen, a halo of grey light through smoke. He reaches out, trying to touch it, and when his fingers touch Hannibal's chest he gasps again, flattens his palm. He's heard about touch sensitivity, people on E or LSD seeing and feeling things differently, heightened, pleasurable in all things, but the drag of Hannibal's chest hair beneath his palm is amazing, and feels incredible.

Hannibal laughs, the sound like a rumbling purr, and Will blinks once, slowly, and lifts his eyes. "How do you feel, darling?"

Will feels _good_. Better than good, he feels amazing; light as a feather and grounded as an oak tree. He laughs, and it startles him, and the water is so pretty and clear.

Hannibal's hand tightens in his hair, tugs, and Will growls, his neck going limp. Hannibal pushes himself to his feet and unplugs the drain, before his arms wrap beneath Will's and haul him upright, dripping out of the water. The sound of it falling is like a blanket of snow, sparkles of ice and lightning, and Will shivers and sags and everything feels like it's moving at half-time, even his heart.

"Fuck," he whispers, slurring the word. "Hannibal."

"I'm here, darling," Hannibal replies, and pulls Will to him, practically lifting him out of the tub and onto the bathmat. He takes a towel and gently rubs at Will's hips, his thighs, his waist. Will whines, trembling with sensation, every nerve ending in him lighting up at the drag of the soft towel.

When Hannibal cups his hand and rubs the towel on the underside of his cock, Will stiffens and whimpers, his head rearing up, too far back and then forward like an unhooked marionet. He falls against Hannibal and sighs happily, nuzzling his skin – he's warm, so warm, feels so good and then Will's hands find his chest and he gasps, bowing his head to rub his cheek against Hannibal's collarbones.

"You feel so good," he breathes, and Hannibal hums in pleasure, dropping the towel. He wraps his fingers around Will's cock and strokes, just once, and Will's knees buckle.

"I'm here," Hannibal says when he whines, pawing at Hannibal desperately, and Hannibal lets him go, pulls him upright and guides Will out of the bathroom, to their bedroom. The air is cold in here and Will shivers, whining until Hannibal plants him on the bed.

The room is dark but Will's senses light up when he is pressed to the bed. The sheets are soft and cool, fine under his fingers. He rubs his face against the pillows, smells both of them clinging, breathes in deeply and moans when Hannibal covers him, naked skin pressing, rubbing. He aches, tender and raw, and turns so that they are facing each other.

He kisses Hannibal's neck, pets down his back, body rolling insistently. He wants to press, to touch everywhere. Wants to feel Hannibal on him like the water and Hannibal is shining, so pretty, so utterly beautiful, he's perfect, he's perfect and Will wants him.

"Hannibal, Hannibal, please, please, please -." He is silenced by a kiss and he moans, parting his lips, tasting – _God_ he tastes good, his tongue slides along Will's and he tastes so fucking good, his lips soft as sin, his hands, _God_ , his hands, warm and wide on Will's hips and Will trembles, paws at Hannibal's chest, his hair, his strong shoulders. "Hannibal _please_."

"I'm here, darling," Hannibal replies, sounding just as breathless, just as needy. The sound of his voice is so rough, so good like the touch of the towels, the cling of the sheets to Will's damp skin. He whimpers, kisses, bites because it feels good to put his teeth on something and Hannibal moans, rutting against Will, the slide of their bodies together feels fucking amazing and -.

"Oh my God, oh God, _shit_." Will goes tense, crying out as Hannibal's hand wraps around his hard cock, stroking slow like the roll of an ocean wave, but tight, so tight and hot and Will's body is twitching, wanting to writhe but too relaxed to do it. His legs stretch, his stomach tenses up and he snarls against Hannibal's skin, shuddering as he comes all over Hannibal's hand and slicking the skin between their bellies. "Shit, _fuck_."

Hannibal huffs a laugh, releases Will and lifts his fingers to his lips for a taste.

Will growls, closes his eyes and rolls, writhing against the sheets and then up against Hannibal, his body alight with sensation. Hannibal shivers, palming Will's hips as Will bows his back, rubs full-body against Hannibal's chest and sighs.

Demands, "Fuck me. Now."

"You are a ravenous thing tonight, darling," Hannibal whispers, but he doesn't argue. Will shivers as Hannibal's slick fingers rub over his rim, one pushing inside. Will is relaxed, open, wanting, and Hannibal's finger is able to push deep with no resistance at all. Hannibal's mouth brushes over Will's shoulder and Will whimpers, arching up, lifts one hand to fist in Hannibal's hair, desperately seeking more.

Hannibal laughs, and pulls his finger out. He spits on his hand, slicks up his cock, and then Will has his thighs pinned by Hannibal's, his ass spread apart as Hannibal lines himself up and pushes inside. It _burns_ , and it's so, so fucking good Will cries out with it, clutching Hannibal's hair, tearing his nails through the sheets as Hannibal sinks into him.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps, sweating, trembling, every inch of him filled to the brim with sensation and there's no outlet, there's nothing to do but shake and shiver, his heart is racing but it's not racing, it is steady and strong and his mouth is so dry, suddenly, and he wets his tongue and gasps as Hannibal growls. His voice is low, spears Will like a fist straight to his heart and Hannibal is holding him, flattened to his back, so warm and so _nice_.

"God, _please_ ," Will whispers, clawing, clutching, tightening up around Hannibal as he rolls his hips and fucks Will slowly, rocking waters, soothing oceans, _tidal_ , pulling Will in and under. "Please, Hannibal, don't -. Can't, I can't -."

"What do you need, darling?" Hannibal whispers, right into his ear, teeth and breath and Will can't think, he can't think and it's exactly what he wanted. He's going to float away except Hannibal is here, he's here and he's a tether, an anchor, and he will not let Will disappear in the clouds.

Will shakes his head, whines wordless pleas against the sheets as Hannibal fucks him, it feels so good, an aching place that seeks friction and contact lighting up and Will groans, lets go of Hannibal's hair and presses both of them flat, lifts his shoulders and rubs against Hannibal's chest, feels the drag of his hair, his teeth on his neck, feels heavy, light, heavy again.

"You feel _so_ fucking good," he gasps, because that is all he can say. It's everything and not enough all at once. But Hannibal growls and bites at his neck and Will goes limp with a harsh noise, clenching up around Hannibal tightly and rutting against the bed. He's not hard, too soon, but _God_ he could be, his cock dragging limply between their sheets is heavenly, the slick of his seed on his belly is like the warm water and his hands are shining, they're glowing and then Hannibal's covers his and plants them both and there's smoke, there's water and smoke and _heat_ and -. "Please, Hannibal, please, please, please."

"Oh, Will." Hannibal's fingers lace and Will's eyes find the matching gleam of their wedding rings, and they're so _bright_ , and beautiful, and his chest is tight and hot with such sudden love. He bows his head and whimpers and rises to Hannibal's weight, desperate for him. "My beautiful, perfect Will."

He is perfect. Hannibal is perfect. God, Will could _explode_.

"Please," Will says, sobs it, the word turning into two syllables as Hannibal tightens his grip, thighs caging in, arms wrapped tight around Will, and starts to fuck him in earnest and it's so powerful, a wave rising up black as ink and it'll cover the sky, drown them in oil, but oil shines and smoke glitters and Will turns his head, kisses slack and needy at Hannibal's flushed cheek and the pink of him, his sweat, glistens, makes Will want to bite.

He does – teeth in Hannibal's jaw, he tenses up and shivers as that wave breaks over him. Hannibal goes still, snarling, and takes one hand free, grabs Will's chin and cups his throat and Will moans, releasing Hannibal's jaw.

Hannibal pulls out and rolls Will over, flattens him on his back and kisses him deeply, like he feels the wave too, and his hand drops to his cock, wedding ring warm and molten, shimmering, and he came in Will but he's still coming, just a little bit, coating Will's cock and his thighs and the cut word of 'Mine' on his flesh and Will shivers and sobs because nothing has ever felt this good in his life.

Hannibal did this. Hannibal took the thoughts and the darkness away and now everything shines. Will rises up to a sitting position, Hannibal straddling him, and he wraps his arms tight around Hannibal's waist, nuzzling his chest hair, damp with sweat. It feels good and he purrs, pleased, lashes fluttering when Hannibal starts to pet through his hair.

He laughs, and kisses Will's forehead. "How do you feel, darling?"

"I am high as a fucking kite," Will replies.

That earns another laugh. "Yes, you will likely experience the effects for a few hours at least," he murmurs.

Will huffs, and pulls Hannibal to him, rolling them until Hannibal is on his back and Will can pet and nuzzle him as much as he likes. "Good," he says, sharp and ravenous, and kisses Hannibal deeply.


	20. Hand Feeding

Hannibal shivers, his eyes fluttering closed as Will drags gentle nails through his hair, down to the nape of his neck. Will's knees are spread, he and Hannibal are both clothed, a small cushion from the couch under Hannibal's knees. The last time Will had him like this, he'd been grading papers and had fucked Hannibal over one of them, causing him to ruin a student's less-than-satisfactory essay.

Tonight, there are no papers. No essays. Nothing pulling Will's attention away, and so it sits, heavy, on Hannibal's shoulders. To be the sole focus of Will's attention is a delicious, addictive feeling. Will is a man who could cut another to pieces with his eyes, ensnare and choke the sanity from Hannibal with no more than a few words and a dismissive flick of his hand. Will is masterful, wonderful in his mastery, even when he is less than kind.

Will tilts his head, and offers Hannibal a smile – a sweet, pretty thing that reaches his eyes. He pets through Hannibal's hair again, tugs on a strand and curls it around his finger, watching the lock of hair unravel before he combs it back into place.

"What are you thinking about?" Will murmurs, after a while, eyes slowly tracking to Hannibal's again, taking routes down from his hair, along his nose, to his lips. Further, to where Hannibal's hands are gently resting on his own thighs, not grabbing, not yet.

Hannibal smiles, and turns his head to kiss the pad of Will's thumb when it presses against his lower lip. "Your cruelty."

Will cocks his head again, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cruelty," he repeats, and it is not a question.

Hannibal nods, and bows his head, forehead touching Will's knee as Will's hand slides up to his hair again, cups his nape, gently squeezing.

"I wonder," Will says, when Hannibal does not answer. "Do you consider this cruel?"

Hannibal sighs. "Every moment I am parted from you is painful."

Will huffs a laugh, and brushes his hand over Hannibal's neck again. "That doesn't answer my question."

Hannibal starts to reply, but is pulled silent when Will tugs on his hair, shakes his head and shushes him. Will reaches forward, curling over Hannibal's head, and then he sits back after retrieving a single sliced roll of honeyed ham. There sits, on the dining room table, a platter of cheeses and meats, crackers and jellies for them to eat. Will asked for him to prepare such a thing before he ordered Hannibal to his knees.

Will hums, tilts his head up and bites off half of the ham, before he lowers his hand and feeds the rest to Hannibal. Hannibal takes it, and Will smiles, dragging his nails down and around the side of his neck, below his chin, to feel the way his throat flexes and moves when he chews and swallows.

Will watches, and watches, and Hannibal cannot break gazes with him. He swallows harshly and Will smiles, doing the same, before he leans forward and steals a single, chaste kiss from Hannibal's lips. He sits back and grabs for another piece of food – a water cracker, this time. He does the same, biting half of it off and then angling the rest for Hannibal to eat.

Will finishes his mouthful first, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watches Hannibal eat. Then, he brushes his thumb over his own lower lip, and his lips part in a smile that shows teeth. "I wonder," he murmurs, "if you are half as satisfied feeding me as I am, feeding you."

Hannibal smiles at him. "It is an immense pleasure."

Will nods. "Even though I didn't prepare the food, making you wait for me, only taking what I give you…" He pauses, and shakes his head. "But that's my motivation, not yours."

There are some people that would not appreciate Will's ability to simply see, to look into the mind and understand, completely, why they would do what they do. Hannibal has never had the luxury of it before, the purity of Will's insight and understanding is a rare gift, just as rare as Hannibal's desire to show it.

"And what, my love," he says, and kisses Will's wrist, "is my motivation?"

Will huffs a laugh, and reaches for the platter again. He comes back with fingers wet with grape jelly, smeared messily on another roll of meat. He feeds Hannibal all of it and shivers, eyes blackening, when Hannibal licks his fingers clean.

"Proving yourself as a provider," Will murmurs, his free hand tightening on Hannibal's nape when he reaches out and grabs another bite of food. Cheese, crumbly and stuffed with cranberries, and Hannibal eats it, licks the saltiness from Will's thumb, sucks the remaining smear of jelly from his knuckles. "Satisfying me, and those you bring to your table." His head tilts. "Honoring your title of apex predator, seeing your mate and friends well-fed."

Hannibal shivers, and does not deny it.

"You delight in your control of others," Will whispers. "I simply delight in my control of you."

Hannibal smiles. "Control the monster, control the townsfolk," he says, and Will's eyes flash with warmth. He smiles widely and leans down, kissing the clinging sweetness from Hannibal's lips. Then, his fingers return, slick with more jelly and he growls, pupils wide and dark, watching as Hannibal sucks them down and licks them clean.

Hannibal knows that darkness in Will's eyes. His hands clench in anticipation, reaching for Will, but Will suddenly rears back and laughs, his knees spreading, showing the prominent bulge of his half-hard cock, the stretch of his slacks across his thighs. He palms Hannibal's hair and tilts him back until his neck is exposed, lifts his chin and shows his teeth.

"Not so fast," he says. "You spent so long preparing this lovely spread…" His free hand lands on his thigh, slides down and Hannibal breathes in, deeply, smells sweetness, salt, arousal on Will. His lips part and he lets out a rough noise. "We're going to sit here and eat every bite of it. I won't let you waste it."

"Cruel boy," Hannibal growls, and Will tilts his head, his eyes shining. He smiles, and reaches for another piece of meat.

He feeds Hannibal again, thumb dragging along the corner of his mouth with utmost gentleness as Hannibal swallows his bite. "You love it," he whispers, soft, full of adoration, and Hannibal finds he cannot deny that either.


	21. Phone Sex

Will is bored. Not only bored, but in a terribly foul mood, so none of his usual diversions are proving to be, well, very diverting. He's in Hannibal's house – their house, he should really start thinking of it as theirs, though he always has, in his own way – in their bedroom. The only room the dogs are not allowed in, even the ones he can let inside.

The day had proven to be unseasonably warm; the kind of sweltering heat that promises thunderstorms approaching fast, and Hannibal had left the heating on so it's hot in the house, and he's naked in bed, trying to will himself to last another moment before flipping to the cool side of the pillow.

On the nightstand, his phone starts to ring, and if it's Jack Will might just quit on the spot. He growls, pushing himself upright and running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, only to abruptly relax and smile when he sees Hannibal's name flash across the screen.

He answers. "Hey," he breathes, dark mood dissipating like smoke in a breeze. Hannibal has been gone for three days, called to some conference in Pennsylvania and Will hadn't been able to take the time off to go with him – not that he particularly _wants_ to ever be in a room with a bunch of therapists and psychologists, but there's being in Hell with Hannibal and being without him at all and Will is always going to choose the former.

"Good evening, darling," comes Hannibal's reply, a soft purr. Will hears a door closing, the rustle of a coat being shed. He sighs, and relaxes against the bed, phone held tight to his ear. "How are you?"

"I miss you," Will murmurs. Strange, to see himself now, the man who used to go days without any human interaction and now aches when he's without his husband for longer than a few hours. "How's the conference?"

"The turnout is the largest I've ever seen. Unfortunately that does not do anything for the quality of the speakers." Hannibal's tone is distinctly displeased and Will huffs a laugh, grinning to himself and blinking up at the ceiling as he imagines Hannibal keeping his poker face, listening to winded peacocks drawl on and on about outdated psychology. "I did meet with a lovely young woman, however, who shows promise. I do hope she won't be ruined by bitter old men with too much time on their hands and an overwhelming obsession with Freud."

Will grunts. "She a student or something?" he asks.

Hannibal gives a soft hum, and there's another rustle as he undoubtedly is shedding his tie, his suit jacket, his waistcoat. "A fledgling, yes," he replies. Will hums in answer. "I assure you, darling, our conversation was entirely professional."

Will doesn't doubt that. But he shows his teeth nonetheless. "You think I'm jealous?"

Hannibal is smiling, he can hear it. "I think you are passionate," he replies coolly. "A creature solitary driven by a hunger that is rather insatiable."

Will huffs, and rolls onto his stomach, closing his eyes. "Whose fault is that?"

"I shoulder the blame happily." There is a pause, and then a creak of leather and squeaking wheels. Will pictures Hannibal sitting in a chair in his hotel room, reclined and relaxed. Imagines a glass of wine in his hand – he's sure Hannibal isn't above ordering room service on the conference's dime. "I do hope you're not ravenous without me."

Will grins, but lets Hannibal reach out to stroke his own ego. "Starving," he purrs, pleased when he hears Hannibal's breath hitch, just slightly. Hannibal's tells are glaring to someone who knows him well. "It's warm here."

Hannibal growls. "Are you unclothed?"

"Mm, yeah," Will replies, bowing his head to the pillow, forehead pressed to the warm surface. His free hand runs down his chest, pressed tight between flesh and blankets. He stops, just shy of his cock, and breathes, "But I've been good. I know how much you like the thought of me desperate."

Hannibal is silent, and then he snarls. "It is a good thing I called, then."

"A very good thing," Will purrs. He pauses, and bites his lower lip, and drawls, "You miss me, baby?"

Hannibal's exhale is shaky, quiet. "Yes, darling," he replies. There's another rustle of fabric, a clink of a belt buckle being opened.

Will laughs, and lets his hand rush down the final few inches, palming his cock lazily. He rolls onto his back and wraps his fingers around the shaft, coaxing it to hardness. "Don't take yourself out yet," he growls, and Hannibal snarls in answer, low in his ear. "What would you do to me, if I was there with you?"

Hannibal's breath catches again. "I would already have you spread open," he says. "But I'd make you wait. Put my hands in your hair and bite your lovely neck until it's littered with my marks." Will's eyes close, imagining it. He bites his lower lip and his breath hitches, hips rising to chase the pressure of his hand. "I love how sensitive your neck is. How much you trust my mouth at your throat."

"I like it when you mark me up," Will breathes, shivering, so warm. He clutches his phone tightly. "Love, ah, _fuck_ , love the way you look at me when you do it."

"You are a singularly beautiful thing," Hannibal says. "I would not be able to tear my eyes from you for a second."

It's clear he's been thinking about it; Will, on his arm, both of them tearing the rest of the conference attendees to shreds. Will's cruel tongue that Hannibal so loves, decimating all conversation, verbal bouts and inside jokes only they are privy to. It's a decadent feeling, being in on a secret.

"Touch yourself," he growls, and listens to Hannibal's clothes rustle, his heavy exhale as he obeys. "Talk to me."

Hannibal snarls, a moment of wet noise as he licks his palm, then the slick sound of him stroking his cock and Will follows suit, getting his fingers wet. "The ache I feel for you is…indescribable," Hannibal whispers. "The first night I thought I might go mad, knowing you were at home. I almost drove to you, just to see you. I would have coaxed you from sleep just to show you how much I missed you."

Will shivers, swallowing harshly. It's not even dirty talk, not really, but he feels it deep in his stomach; feels Hannibal's desire, his ravenous love. "You're coming home tomorrow, right?" he asks, and Hannibal hums in agreement. "I'll get myself nice and slick, get myself ready. I want you to fuck me before you do anything else."

"Whatever you desire, my love," Hannibal breathes.

Will moans, softly, his hand tightening and tugging at the head of his cock when he hears Hannibal's shaken inhale. " _Fuck_ , maybe I'll come visit you," he says. "Drive up in the early hours, wait for you in one of the conference rooms. I could talk my way in, see how long it took you to notice me there."

Hannibal growls.

"See how long it took for you to break. Would you pull me into the bathrooms, or maybe want to fuck me right there before the other guests showed up."

"Neither," Hannibal snarls. "Your pleasure is for my eyes only; I would take you to my room. Make you scream for me."

Will shivers, toes curling, knees bending up as his hips rise and his hand strokes down, spreading the precum gathered at the head. "Fuck, Hannibal," he breathes, and opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling. " _Fuck_ , I miss you." It's more urgent than lust, sharper than hunger or thirst. He aches, he _aches_.

"Will." That's all he says, a singular gasp of Will's name, and it's enough because Hannibal is right – Will is a starving creature now, hungry for its mate, for his monster, and every moment away from him stretches on for a lifetime.

He goes still, coming with a loud, vicious snarl into the phone, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he works himself through his orgasm. Hannibal is breathing heavily through the phone, the sound of his hand on his cock obscenely loud to Will's sensitive ears.

" _Fuck_ ," he whispers, and licks absently at his dirty fingers. Hannibal lets out another breathless, wanton sound, and Will smiles. "That's it, baby. I know you miss me, too. Know you wanna bite me and spread my legs and remind everyone who I belong to."

" _Will_." More urgent, now. He's close.

"I'd come right now if you wanted me to," Will murmurs, breathless. "It's not that far away. I could do it."

" _Will_."

"I miss the taste of you. Put me on my knees, Hannibal. Make me swallow all of it."

Hannibal growls, and then goes silent, before his breath blows out of him and Will closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Hannibal coming, the wet slick of his hand over his cock as he works himself through it. His stomach aches, sharply, his mouth wet. His teeth itch.

Hannibal breathes out again, gasps into the phone, and Will smiles.

Purrs, "Come home."

Hannibal growls, and says with heavy finality, "I'll see you soon, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having a long-distance SO is ///torture///


	22. Consensual Somnophilia

Hannibal normally wakes up first. Before Will, and during the early stages of their courtship, he would rise and make coffee and breakfast, rouse Will with the scents of food and the promise of caffeine, soft-playing music lulling him downstairs and into Hannibal's arms. Now, though, Hannibal basks in the moments when he is awake and Will is asleep, could spend hours simply watching him, memorizing the angle of shadows cast by his lashes, the unruly mop of his soft hair, the pretty flush on his cheeks when the weather is warm. Will exists, in sleep, as a beautiful, innocent thing that Hannibal longs to dirty and mark with his teeth and hands.

Will is in his arms, his back to Hannibal's chest, his lips slightly parted and head turned to bury most of his face in the pillow. Hannibal presses close to him, breathing in a greedy lungful of his scent – Will reeks of Hannibal, bone-deep now, both of their natures so closely entwined that there is no doubt that Will is claimed, that he is Hannibal's to love and adore.

Will stirs when Hannibal's thumb swipes, gently, down the center of his bare chest, over the steady pulse of his heart. Hannibal nuzzles his exposed neck, finds where the flesh is tender and delicate, kisses lightly – Will is bruised, here, teeth marks and a bright red splotch of broken blood vessels Hannibal laid to him the night before in a fit of passion. In all his years, Hannibal had never imagined he would find someone so perfectly suited to him – someone to whom Hannibal has no problem giving up control, or taking it.

By force, if that's the game.

Hannibal's lashes flutter as Will shifts his weight, arching back into Hannibal's chest, his ass fitting into the curve of Hannibal's hips like a puzzle piece finding its mate. Both of them are bare here, too, having succumbed to sleep with seed drying on Hannibal's belly and lubricant staining Will's thighs.

Hannibal growls, shows his teeth and clutches to Will as Will shivers, tilts his head again, gives Hannibal more of his neck in such a sweet, trusting motion. He sighs, and it's half a form of Hannibal's name, a single syllable drifting off to a soft growl. Will's hand, raised and settled by his face on the pillow, curls up and digs in.

Hannibal tilts his head, and, testing, drags his nails down Will's chest, to his belly. Until he can feel the tip of Will's cock, hard and warm and pushing against the edge of his palm with some insistence. Hannibal is not unaffected – he cannot think of a single moment when Will's presence doesn't ignite some fire in his flesh, under his skin, in his chest. Will can, and has, pulled him to naked desire with merely a look before.

Will shifts his weight again, though he is still asleep, and ruts his ass back against Hannibal's thickening cock, another weak sound of want torn from his throat and buried in the pillow. Hannibal growls, and sucks a pink mark to Will's shoulder, his hand sliding back and touching lightly at the dip of Will's spine, testing the reaction.

Will groans again, sighs his name again, and this time it comes with a 'Yes'.

Interesting.

Hannibal smiles against his husband's neck, nuzzles his soft, thick hair, and slides his fingers down until he can find the smear of dried lube coating Will's rim. On the outside, it is crusted and old, but when he curls a finger and pushes in, Will is wet and warm, and eagerly parts for him in a way he only does in his waking hours when seized by a particular kind of desperation.

Will whines, and his thigh moves forward, his chest pressing flatter to give Hannibal room to touch him. The hand on the pillow moves down, reaches back, wraps around Hannibal's wrist to tighten, encouraging him to press deeper.

Hannibal does not delight in Will's passivity, but even in sleep, Will does not seem passive.

He prowls over Will, nuzzles his neck again and sets his teeth wide on his nape, causing Will to shiver, and goose bumps to break out down his neck, his shoulders, his upper arms. He pushes deeper with one finger, pulls back and spits on his hand to get his fingers wet and works two in.

Will gasps, eyelids parting just a sliver, before they close again and he moans, wanton, uninhibited and loud. "Please," he whispers again, and whines when Hannibal curls his fingers down, drags the tips along where Will is particularly sensitive. It causes Will's body to spasm, and his knuckles whiten as he grips the sheets and rolls his hips down, seeking friction for his cock.

"Do you want me, darling?" Hannibal growls into his ear, sure that Will, while not quite awake, is aware enough to hear him.

Will nods, once, slow and languid. "Y-yeah," he says, and shivers when Hannibal growls and works a third finger into his slick, loose hole. Will's body clenches up, his thigh lifting further still, his hand moving down to palm lazily at his cock. "Yeah."

Hannibal smiles, and pulls his fingers free, digging his hands into Will's hips and pulling him back onto his side. Will whines, head tipping back to Hannibal's shoulder, buried under his cheek, and Hannibal rolls his hips forward, breath catching when his cockhead finds Will's hole and pushes in past the relaxed ring of muscle.

Will gasps, his eyes moving beneath his lids, a satisfied smile crossing his face before it goes lax again. He is limp, delightfully pliant, as Hannibal holds him still and rolls his hips in steady thrusts, seeking to pierce Will as deeply as he can before he withdraws.

"F- _fuck_ ," Will breathes, eyes opening again, just to half-mast for a moment before they close. He paws at Hannibal's hand around his hip, stroking his cock with his other one more urgently. He gasps, growls, tilts his head to bare more of his neck. "Hannibal…"

Hannibal shivers, overwhelmed by the feeling of having Will like this, so trusting, so relaxed. So pure and sweetly eager in his arms. He noses under Will's ear, lets out a rough sound of pleasure when Will tightens and shakes for him.

"You feel exquisite, Will," he breathes, sure Will is aware enough to hear him. Will curls up into him, legs lifting and knees bent so Hannibal has room to cover him completely, and Hannibal's arm wraps under Will's body and crushes his back to Hannibal's chest. He fucks in a little more forcefully, just to hear Will gasp and see his face go slack. "So beautiful, so sweet and eager for me, even in sleep." And _God_ , does that not speak volumes of Will's trust and love for him, for he knows there is a monster in his bed and is still as utterly devoted, knowing Hannibal will not harm him, will not hurt him in any way Will does not want.

Will whines, his cheeks flushing darkly, spreading down his neck and chest in a pink stain. "Fuck," he growls, and twists his hand at the head of his cock. His lashes flutter again and he moans when Hannibal fucks him with a little more force. "God, yeah. Right there, right there, fuck…."

Hannibal digs his nails into Will's hip, holds him tightly and presses deep, delighted when Will's hips take over, rutting back so Hannibal's cock keeps the pressure inside him. He whimpers, tightens up so suffocatingly warm, and his eyes fly open when he comes, free fist flying to his mouth so he can bite down on his knuckles and whine around them.

Hannibal snarls, closing his eyes and burying his face in Will's hair as he pulls back, thrusts through Will's spasming body, and comes a moment later. When he lifts his head, Will's eyes are open, glazed with pleasure and dark in the low morning light. Hannibal tilts his head and kisses him, pleased when Will's slack mouth can do little but part and take it, accept his tongue and the swift bite Hannibal places on his lower lip.

When they part, Will is smiling, glowing and red, and he cups Hannibal's cheek as Hannibal pulls out of him, and rolls onto his other side. "Good morning to you, too," he says, playful and happy, and Hannibal smiles and pulls him into another kiss.

"Forgive me," Hannibal murmurs, though he is far from repentant. "I couldn't resist."

"I'm not complaining," Will replies with another smile. "Perfect way to wake up."

Hannibal smiles, resting their foreheads together, and then lets out a soft, pleased hum when Will kisses him again. "I'll remember that."


	23. Temperature Play

The candlelight burns softly, coloring the room in gold, as Will settles into place over Hannibal's hips. His back is bare, shining from the oil Will used to coat his skin – "It'll make the cleanup easier," he had said, and Hannibal had merely smiled, accepting the offer of the massage to get his muscles pliant and relaxed.

Will smooths his hands down Hannibal's back, leans down and kisses between his shoulder blades. The oil is unscented, both for Hannibal's sake and his own – while his sense of smell is not nearly as sensitive as Hannibal's nose, he has found over their time together that he is more sensitive to certain things. He is more aware, now, of the scent of various spices Hannibal uses to cook, can pick them out of a meal like puzzle pieces that make up the whole. He has grown a sharp fondness for the flavor of mint, of lemongrass, of sandalwood and vanilla. Hannibal's scent is always vaguely iron-like, bloody as the rest of him.

Will parts his jaws, kisses wide and open-mouthed at Hannibal's shoulder, and then pulls back and takes the candle. The flame springs from the wick in a bright, tall flicker, almost an inch long, greedily feasting on the wax. It is a long, simple thing, the same kind used in churches and old gothic spaces, and Will thinks it's fitting, for when he is with Hannibal, he feels worshipful.

He tilts the candle, watches the wax drip idly down the shaft of it, and drops it to his own wrist, testing the temperature. It is a sudden, scalding pinprick of pain, quickly cooling, but the burn of it slides into his skin and down the tendon in his wrist, turns his skin pink around the little puddle of it.

He smiles, and rests his free hand on Hannibal's shoulder, and leans down, angling it so that the next drip lands on Hannibal's bare, shining skin.

Hannibal tenses up when it hits, his eyelids lowering as Will watches his face – watches the subtle clench of his jaw as the pain registers, watches his cheeks flush with restraint, fighting the instinctive urge to lash out at the source of his pain. He's not a masochist in the same way Will is; pain doesn't excite him on its own.

Will's pain, though, Will's pleasure. That is something he gorges on regularly.

Will drags the dripping wax down the rise of muscle on one side of his spine, shivering when he watches the wax cool and dribble down the edges of it, caressing Hannibal like Will's own touch might. The skin around the wax turns pink, another border showing in a thin pebbling of goose bumps, untouched flesh reacting to comparative cold.

He moves the candle away and kisses Hannibal's neck.

"Tell me how it feels," he whispers; a soft demand.

Hannibal growls, when Will lets the wax drip again, and then sets the candle to one side, in a safe holder on the bedside table. "It is a strange feeling," Hannibal replies. "The difference between your heat and the wax. Sharper."

Will hums, and digs his nails into the edges of the cooling wax, still warm enough to bend somewhat to the press of his fingers. Next to the candle is a bowl of ice cubes and he takes one, shivering at the slippery, cool water as it melts to his touch.

He cups it against his palm and presses it to the center of Hannibal's back, dragging down, letting the cube melt into the crease of his spine and Hannibal growls, shivering as well, his hips arching up subtly, shoulders tensed and rising to seek Will's heat to wipe away the cold. Will follows the slick trail with his tongue, warming Hannibal's skin, and then takes the candle and follows it with another line of hot wax.

Hannibal breathes out, trembling at the feeling of cold, to warm, to burning hot. His fingers curl beneath his cheek and Will digs his nails into his back, swipes down through wax and saliva and melting ice. He uses the candle to draw patterns, little zigs and zags of hot wax that bring a wild pink to Hannibal's skin, each muscle tensed and released like a contraction.

"Which do you like better?" he asks curiously. "The cold, or the hot?"

Hannibal sighs, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "Like comparing wine, darling," he replies. "Each taste brings with it its own sensation."

Will smiles, and kisses Hannibal's neck again after setting the candle down and grabbing another cube. This one, he eats, lets it chill his tongue and wet it, and moves back, spreading Hannibal apart and licking over his exposed rim. Hannibal gasps, trembling, as Will licks deep into him, spreading him apart with his cold tongue, letting the water wet him on the inside and grow warm.

"Will," Hannibal breathes, and lifts his head.

Will huffs, rises, and forces his head back down. "Be still," he murmurs, and ruts his cock between Hannibal's warm thighs, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Hannibal's hair. He grabs another ice cube and runs it between Hannibal's cheeks, the cold melt of it wetting his cock, wetting Hannibal's thighs. It stings sharply, hurts, and it just makes him want to seek the warmth of his husband all the more sharply.

Beside the bowl, and the candle, is more massage oil. He reaches for it, opens the cap and wets his fingers, slicking his cock over-wet with one hand while the other thumbs at Hannibal's cool rim, warming the water with his touch.

When he is ready, when Hannibal is lax and eager beneath him, Will angles his hips and guides his cock inside Hannibal, growling when Hannibal opens for him eagerly and he can bury himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. His hand rises, finds one of Hannibal's, and their fingers lace tightly.

He grabs another ice cube, crushes it between his teeth, and bites down on Hannibal's neck as he rolls his hips, his cock buried in tight heat, his teeth aching from the cold. Hannibal moans, rising in an encouraging roll of his body, fingers tight in Will's.

Will shivers, grabs another ice cube and flattens his hand on Hannibal's hip until it melts, then tugs him up so he can wrap his cold hand around Hannibal's cock. Hannibal shudders, teeth snapping together, fucking forward and then back and Will smiles, licking over Hannibal's neck, pleased to feel Hannibal so desperately trying to warm his hand with his own flesh.

"I think I prefer the ice," he murmurs, as Hannibal clenches up and fucks back onto his cock. "It makes you more eager."

"I'm always eager for you," Hannibal breathes, and Will knows he's not exaggerating even a little.

Will growls, tightens his hand and strokes Hannibal until his palm is warm again, slick with water. Hannibal shivers, baring more of his neck for Will's mouth and Will bites again, low enough that his collars and shirts will hide it. Will likes his marks to be felt, more than seen.

Hannibal reaches out with his free hand, grabs one of the ice cubes and then tugs at Will's nape, pulling him more firmly over Hannibal's pink back. The wax is soft between their bodies, the cold clinging to Hannibal's spine and then the ice is melted to Will's nape and he growls, shuddering, seeking more of Hannibal's heat in response.

Hannibal shivers, growling as Will bites him again, on his shoulder, sucking a large, dark bruise to his shining flesh. Will fucks in, shivering at the contrast of heat and cold, his spine lighting up as the water dribbles down his neck.

He comes with a harsh groan, stroking Hannibal tight and quick as he feels Hannibal tense up in response. He finishes a moment later, clenching around Will's softening cock so tightly he's forced out and Will huffs a laugh, rutting between his legs to feel more of that lingering heat.

He feels Hannibal start to turn and huffs, digging his fingers into Hannibal's hip and butting his forehead to his shoulder. "Stay still," he says. "I have to clean you up."

Hannibal lets out a soft, dismissive sound of protest, but relaxes on his stomach, his cool fingers now idly carding through Will's hair to warm them up again.

Will smiles, and kisses his neck, and rises to his knees. "I'll be quick," he promises, and sees Hannibal smile. "Though I'm not sure I'm done playing with you yet."

At that, Hannibal laughs. "Whatever you wish, mylimasis," he says, and Will knows that in this, too, he is not exaggerating in the slightest.


	24. Audiophilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently there are people not aware that Hugh can sing? GO LISTEN TO HIS LOVELY VOICE RIGHT NOW.

Will can sing.

Hannibal never knew this, and immediately cannot fathom why. He moves quietly through the house, drawn by the sweet lilt of Will's voice as he sings – a song Hannibal has not heard, probably from some show he's seen. His voice is clean, clear, a beautiful tenor that, even without music, is lovely and reminds Hannibal of warm, romantic nights and the quiet stillness of falling snow.

He comes to the threshold of the kitchen and finds Will unpacking his veritable horde of fishing gear, his cheeks flushed from the cold, hair wild and damp from the light misting rain outside. He doesn't see Hannibal at first, too caught up in carefully twisting a roll of fishing line around a reel.

Then, he sets it down, and looks up, meeting Hannibal's eyes. His blush darkens and he gives Hannibal a warm, happy smile, shrugging off his coat. "Hey," he murmurs.

Hannibal smiles. "Hello, Will," he replies, and comes forward, taking Will's coat and folding it over his arm. He kisses Will's cheek when it's offered. "How was the water?"

"No bites this time," Will says, though he doesn't sound upset about it. Hannibal imagines him, sitting in quiet stillness, or perhaps he was singing to the fish as well. Immediately, a strange flare of jealousy rises up in him, that the wild animals might have heard Will's lovely voice and he has not.

He turns and goes to the hallway, hanging Will's coat up, and returns to find Will putting all his things back in their boxes, sealing it tight. He likely won't take it back out until the new year when the water starts to thaw.

Hannibal smiles, and goes to him, flattening himself to Will's back and sliding his hands down Will's arms. He's wearing a long-sleeved, light-blue Henley, the material warmed from his skin. Hannibal kisses his hair and Will shivers.

Bites his lip, and turns his head. Smiles. "Missed me?"

"Very much," Hannibal replies. Will's fishing trips normally take him most of the day, if not days at a time. Will hums, and turns in his arms, cupping the back of Hannibal's neck and drawing him into a kiss. When they part, Hannibal rests their foreheads together, and brushes his knuckles down Will's cheek. "You have a lovely singing voice."

Will flushes, shakes his head in instinctive denial and humility. Hannibal smiles, and leans in, kissing Will's warm cheek.

"Will you sing for me?"

Will sucks in a breath, tightens his nails in Hannibal's nape and Hannibal kisses his neck, flattens his touch on Will's hips and tugs him forward. Will shivers, lashes dipping low, and swallows harshly.

"I don't really…" Hannibal smiles. For such a brazen creature his Will is, he can still sometimes be so unsure. Hannibal kisses his neck, tongue running along the rush of his pulse, eliciting another shiver from him.

Hannibal pulls back, kisses Will chastely, drags his nails down Will's hips and then back up. "Sing for me, darling," he says, soft and coaxing. "Let me hear your beautiful voice."

Will shivers, bites his lower lip, and turns away. Hannibal presses to his back again, lets Will's fidgeting hands find solace and distraction in correcting his lures and lines. Then, very quietly, he starts to sing again. It is a song Hannibal doesn't recognize, but a different one from before – some soft, drawling melody that brings out his buried accent.

Hannibal smiles, wraps his arms around Will, presses a hand flat over his chest to hear the vibration of his voice, trembling between his collarbones. Will's breath hitches, song stuttering, and he leans back against Hannibal with a sigh, closing his eyes and pressing his hands flat on the kitchen counter.

"Beautiful," Hannibal breathes, his other hand sliding down Will's stomach, smiling when Will's stomach sinks in, his hips roll in subtle invitation.

Will falls silent, bowing his head to give Hannibal move of his neck, shivering when Hannibal kisses his nape, warm and wide. "Hannibal," he whispers, and ruts back against him. "Please."

"Every noise you make delights me, darling," Hannibal says, nuzzling Will's neck. "Every moan, and cry, and now this? You are a siren."

Will shivers again, groans when Hannibal slides his hand down further, cupping his hardening cock through his jeans which still hold some of the outside chill. Hannibal can make him warm, can make him burn.

He smiles, predatory and wide. "Will you keep singing for me, darling?"

Will huffs, and shakes his head. "Don't know if I can."

Hannibal laughs, and turns Will around, kissing him deeply. Then, when Will's breath catches and he sags to Hannibal, moaning softly, Hannibal pulls back and falls to his knees. "Try," he whispers. Will sucks in a breath, his eyes wide, his fingers immediately going to Hannibal's hair and fisting tight.

"You can't be serious," he whispers, but he's eager, his cock thick and hard now, tenting his jeans. His jaw clenches and his lashes go low when Hannibal leans in and mouths at his cock through his clothes.

"Sing, Will," Hannibal commands, and nuzzles Will's erection, smiling when Will's breath hitches again. "And I will see you richly rewarded."

"Fuck," Will growls, palming the back of Hannibal's head. Hannibal flattens his hands to Will's thighs, grins when Will swallows, obviously trying to control his breathing, and whines when Hannibal takes him out of his jeans and swallows him down.


	25. Bondage

Will shivers, swallowing harshly as the ropes around his neck are pulled tight. There is one, sitting right at the top of his neck, tucked tight beneath the corners of his jaw, and rubs in a way distantly irritating, pulling at the fine hairs beneath the thicker curls. Then, following the ridge of his spine, a twist of rope tied together like strands of DNA, to a second ring that cuts gracelessly between the bottom of his neck and the inner jut of his collarbones, sits heavy in the hollow of his throat, and comes to a second knot at the base of his nape.

His eyes close as Hannibal fashions a ring from the remainder of the rope, before the ends fall to tickle Will's spine. Hannibal's fingers curl, knuckles trapped between the ring that touches both the top and bottom layer of the makeshift collar, and the twist of rope along Will's spine, and tugs. The distribution of the rope means Will feels it with less sharpness than a single line, and this way he would more likely pass out from cut-off blood flow than asphyxiation, but the jerk and tightening of the ropes sends a little thrill down him all the same.

And, this way, Hannibal can still bite.

Hannibal tugs again, humming as though confirming a theory to himself, and Will's eyes open when he feels Hannibal's lips gently brush his cheek. He turns his head, plants his hands on either side of his hips where he's sitting on the edge of their bed, Hannibal kneeling behind him.

"How does it feel?" he asks.

"Good," Will replies, hoarse already. He licks his lips and shakes his head, testing the somewhat coarse drag of the rope, the tug on his hair and the way it sits against his neck. "Catching a little on my hair."

Hannibal makes a soft sound, and gently digs his nails under the upward rise of the twist, tugging it down just enough that it's no longer pinching, and Will sighs, and nods in thanks. "Perfect."

He feels Hannibal smile against his cheek, and then watches as Hannibal reaches for another coil of black rope. There are no less than a dozen, carefully placed within easy reach. Hannibal kisses Will's neck, the exposed patch of skin between the two lines of red-colored rope, and wraps a doubled-up length of black around Will's chest, just above the 'Mylimasis' carved into his last rib, and then leans back, tugging tight.

Will huffs, looking down and watching as Hannibal does it again, under his arms this time, tightening the harness so his pectoral muscles bulge out and the skin around the rope turns white, and then pink. "Is it weird I always feel like you're going to eat me when you do this?"

Hannibal laughs, and Will closes his eyes as he feels a third piece drag across his skin, as Hannibal's strong and capable hands work to secure the two bands of rope together. Will grew up learning knots and ways to tie things in a such a way they will not move, but Hannibal is a keen study, and used to methods of restraint, albeit for different things.

"I will admit, when you let me tie you up, the thought crosses my mind as well." Will shivers, biting his lower lip as Hannibal leans in, tests the give of knots down Will's spine, and pulls until the lower band rolls up, trapping Will's chest. He gives a hum of satisfaction and sits back to finish. "I can hardly make a roast these days without thinking of you."

Will smiles. "God forbid the lines between pleasure blur."

Hannibal growls, and wraps a hand in Will's hair, yanking him back suddenly. Will gasps, arching against Hannibal's chest, and grins up at him when Hannibal leans down and nips Will's jaw. Will's hands flex, unafraid – he has never been afraid of Hannibal.

Hannibal reaches for another coil of rope, this one black and thinner, and loops it through the ring at the back of Will's neck, letting it drop down to become one with the chest harness. "Insolent boy," he whispers, though it sounds like he's smiling. Will sighs, and settles, testing the motion of his neck and what he's allowed to do – he can raise his head so that he can see the ceiling, the upper edge of their bedroom door, but cannot bend forward any farther without the rope around his neck tightening unbearably.

Hannibal moves from behind him, climbs off the bed and pushes himself between Will's knees. Will can look up at him, but that is all, and Hannibal smiles, eyes dark with pleasure, and leans down, cupping his chin and kissing him.

"I will leave your hands free," he murmurs, and Will nods – or tries to. He gasps when Hannibal's hands skate down his chest, thumbing at his nipples until they harden, and it makes him want to squirm. It's strange how hesitant he is to move with his neck tied up like this.

Hannibal smiles, and takes his hand, forcing Will to reach over and behind himself. At the base of his neck, where the rope connecting his collar to his chest hardness is, he feels a knot with an obvious, long tail. A quick-release knot.

"You may only use your hands to pull this, if you need to," Hannibal says, and Will smiles, and meets his eyes.

Hannibal returns it, and then pulls back. His eyes go black. "Lift your heels," he commands, and Will shivers, shifting back so that he has room to bend his legs and dig his heels into the edge of the mattress. Hannibal rewards him with another smile, and then grabs some rope, and Will can't crane his neck forward far enough to see what he's doing. He can feel Hannibal's warm hands, the trail of rope, and he shivers, tense with anticipation.

Hannibal secures his ankle, first, looping the rope just below the jut of bone, then another, further up Will's calves, and tying them together. Then, another set go below his knees, creating a stirrup-like knot that Will recognizes the feeling of from being restrained in such a way before.

Then, Hannibal pulls his knees together and Will whines, unable to see anything at all.

Hannibal stills, and then pets down Will's thigh in a soothing motion. "Almost done, darling," he murmurs, and Will swallows, fallen to his elbows now, head tilted back. His chest aches, unable to expand properly with the ropes around him, his ankles and knees protest the cling of the rope, his throat reminds him sharply of the collar's presence whenever he swallows, whenever he gasps.

He growls when he feels Hannibal's strong hand worm between his thighs, tugging lightly on his cock, and pulling it down between them. Will squirms again, gasping as Hannibal ties his ankles together, and then he comes into view at Will's side. There is one last piece of rope in his hands, and he doesn't look at Will, focused entirely on the action of binding him. The knot goes between his knees, and then connects with the front of the chest harness, wrapped between the upper and lower band so that it comes together and forms an 'X', and makes Will's chest bulge further. It forces his spine to bend, folded almost in half.

He collapses onto his back, groaning. It is not the most uncomfortable position Hannibal has put him in, but it aches nonetheless, his tight-wrapped ribs and his lower back aching, his heart rushing so thunderously loud, his neck hurts from keeping his head bent back and his shoulders are tight.

His hands flutter uselessly at his sides, the only part of him that’s free. He wants to wrap them around the backs of his knees to try and ease the strain, but he thinks Hannibal would just chastise him and force him to release them. Besides, he said Will could only use his hands if he had to release his neck.

He turns his head, finds Hannibal kneeling beside him, a deeply satisfied and contemplative look on his face. His eyes are low-lidded, gaze raking over Will like he's still placing all the knots, repeating it to himself over and over, smile growing every time he reaches the finished result.

It makes Will flush, warmth and pride stirring in him, to be at the receiving end of so much focused, pleased attention.

Then, Hannibal tilts his head, and his eyes meet Will's. He smiles, and leans down to pet Will's hair from his face, kissing his forehead. "I'd like to take a few photographs, if I may," he says.

Will rolls his eyes. "Drawing reference?" he teases. He knows Hannibal wouldn't keep him like this long enough for a full sketch, and it's only for that reason that Will allows him to get away with taking pictures at all.

Hannibal's eyes glimmer with mirth, and he kisses Will again, on the lips this time. "More like recipe notes," he replies.

Will blinks in surprise, and then glares when Hannibal merely smiles at him. He reaches out and tugs on Hannibal's hair, pulling him into one last kiss, before letting him withdraw.

"You have five minutes," he says, softly, low with promise. "Then it's my turn."

Hannibal breathes out, his eyes black again. His nostrils flare, and he rises from the bed, hurrying to grab the camera.


	26. Possessiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one kind of went off the rails but /shrug  
> possessiveness + frottage + marking :D

The tension in the house is palpable when Will comes home. There is a frantic, blackened energy sitting atop it like the shadow of a great cat, and Will swallows, wincing as he shrugs off his coat and toes off his boots.

"Hannibal?" he calls, and hangs his coat, only turning away when he senses Hannibal's presence. He can barely get a word out before Hannibal is on him, kissing Will fiercely, pawing at him. Will moans, but the sound is laced with pain, and he tenses up and hisses when Hannibal's passion sends him against the back of the front door, shoulders hitting unforgiving wood.

"Jack called me," Hannibal breathes, and he pulls back and his eyes are shining, more fierce than Will thinks he has ever seen them. His body language is like that of a hungry animal, and he paws at Will no less gently than his kiss. "He told me that you were giving chase, that you had gotten hurt, and I -."

Will swallows, dips his eyes down. He knows the consequences of letting himself get hurt – and they will be worse, with Hannibal unable to exact his own revenge.

"I fell," he says, because Hannibal will wring the confession from him sooner or later. "Stupid shit, got jumped and ended up on the ground."

Hannibal lets out a sharp, angry breath. He grabs Will's chin and forces their eyes to meet, and kisses him again – softer, just a little, less teeth, but his hands are warm and wide, on Will's neck, on his hip. Will shivers, flattening his hands on Hannibal's chest as Hannibal presses close to him, pinning him against the door.

"Where are you injured?" he asks.

Will swallows. "Shoulders took most of it," he says. "Some bruising, some ache, knee hurts a bit. Not even top five in worst injuries I've ever gotten. Hell, not even top five in the roughest nights you've given me."

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Hannibal snarls, his hand digging into Will's hip and forcing them together, and Will's shoulders ache at the press of the unforgiving door but Hannibal's mouth is a welcome distraction, his heat and his desire something easy, something wanted. Will sighs, tilts his head, and gives himself over to it.

Until Hannibal breaks the kiss and clenches his jaw, digs his hand against Will's throat and pins him at arm's length. Will whines, hands wrapped around Hannibal's forearm, and meets his gaze, his eyes wide.

"But I didn't give this to you, did I?" Hannibal says, and his voice is off, caught between something of a hiss, the possessive rumble of a predator, and another edge that is -.

Will looks at him, and swallows.

"Do you want to see?"

Hannibal's hand flexes, his upper lip lifts. But he releases Will's neck, and nods.

Will nods as well, and pulls his shirt over his head, wincing at the tug of abused and tense muscles. It really isn't that bad – he has a bruise on his clavicle from the first hit, and his shoulders ache from being slammed into a wall, so he's sure they don't look great, but other than that he got off _very_ lucky. Luckier still, that the guy he was chasing didn't have a gun or a knife.

He turns around, letting Hannibal see his shoulders. There is silence, for a long time, and then Hannibal's hands, so utterly gentle, touch his waist. Hannibal's mouth, warm and soft, lands at the back of Will's neck.

Hannibal pulls him back, just a little, enough that Will isn't face-planted against the door and can rest his forehead against the dark wood. He shivers when Hannibal embraces him, the pressure of his chest on Will's shoulders a comforting, warm burn in contrast to the hard, unforgiving surface of the door.

Hannibal lets out a quiet noise, his hands pressing flat over Will's bare chest, one over the tenderly-aching bruise. Will winces, and swallows.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should have been more careful."

At that, Hannibal finally softens, and kisses his neck. "Darling, I'm not angry with you," he murmurs, and Will isn't sure that's true, but he doesn't protest. "I was just so worried, that you had been gravely hurt, or…"

 _Or_.

Will presses his lips together, turns his head and rubs his cheek against Hannibal's forehead. "I'm okay," he says, and it feels like such a simple thing, almost meaningless. He turns, smiling when Hannibal lets him, and cups his face and kisses him deeply. "I'm here, I'm okay."

Hannibal nods, breathes out.

His hands tighten on Will's hips, dragging him forward against Hannibal's body, and Will shivers, biting his lower lip and spreading his legs to make room for one of Hannibal's thighs. He is rewarded with a firm press of strong muscle, a harsh exhale against his neck as Hannibal growls and tugs on him. Hannibal doesn't touch him like this when Will bears marks from another man – Will isn't sure if it's some prideful thing, or if he wants to spare Will his wrath, but this is new, foreign territory, because the last time Will got hurt their relationship was still in its fledgling stages.

Hannibal pulls back, dark eyes falling to the bruise on Will's collarbone, and his upper lip twitches. He wraps a hand in Will's and tugs him away from the door, down the hallway, through the dining room and into the study.

"Kneel," he commands, and Will obeys with another shiver, sinking to his knees in front of one of the couches. Hannibal tilts his face up, his eyes black. He huffs a breath, something half-amused and almost sheepish. "It is selfish of me to wish that you'd stop working for Jack?"

Will swallows. "Only if it's selfish of me to think I have to. I need to keep him blind to you."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and he smiles.

"Oh, Will," he breathes, and sits on the couch, angling Will to kneel between his spread knees. Will's breath catches, a fissure of anticipation running down his spine when Hannibal threads a hand through his hair and tugs. "Just when I think I could not love you any more fiercely."

Will smiles.

Hannibal pulls on his hair, growls, "Come up here, darling." Will nods, and climbs up into Hannibal's lap, thighs spread wide. Hannibal cups his hips, coaxing him forward, and noses Will's neck with a trembling sigh, their bodies slotting together easily, perfectly. Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders and whines when he feels nails in his back.

He bows his head, kisses Hannibal's ear, bites at the upper ridge as he feels Hannibal's hardening cock rut against his own. They are young, like this; unevolved creatures driven purely by the need for closeness. Hannibal shows his teeth, kisses Will with them, one hand forcing Will's head to his neck, the other subtly directing the movement of his hips as Will grinds down onto him.

"I love you," Will breathes, pleased when Hannibal shivers beneath him. His heels are planted to the floor, hips rolling up, seeking Will's weight, his heat as Will moves for him. His shoulders tense, aching sharply, but he won't stop for anything.

Hannibal's hand tightens, flexes, drags up with nails to touch the scarring on his rib. Will's breath catches, another fissure of pleasure running down his spine as Hannibal then presses the heel of his hand against Will's erection, making him want to rut with more force against Hannibal's touch.

Hannibal's fingers, deft and assured as always, unbutton Will's jeans, pull the zip down and coaxes his cock free. His hand wraps around Will tightly and Will moans, lashes fluttering, his nose to Hannibal's neck. His breathing is heavy, cock wet and leaking, a soft whine falling from him when Hannibal twists his wrist and tugs on his hair.

"I don't suppose you have the name of the man you were chasing?" Hannibal purrs.

Will huffs, shaking his head. "Jack arrested him," he murmurs. "He's out of our hands."

Hannibal hums, and his hand tightens around Will's cock. "Pity," he murmurs. Will shivers, growling at the pressure on his cock, the heavy weight of Hannibal's erection beneath him. His mouth waters, aching for a taste.

" _Hannibal_ ," he gasps, as Hannibal tugs on his hair, claims his mouth when Will lifts his head. He moans, jerking his hips forward, chasing Hannibal's touch.

"Are you close, darling?" Hannibal growls, and Will knows he knows the answer. He can probably smell it. Still, he nods, and Hannibal snarls, lowering his mouth to Will's collarbone, where he's bruised. He parts his jaws and bites down sharply on the mark, covering it with an imprint of his own teeth, and it hurts, it hurts but it's good because Will knows why he's doing it. "Show me."

Will whines, bowing his head, his spine tensing up and shoulders rolling, aching sharply, as he digs his nails into Hannibal's nape and comes with a gasp, dirtying his hand and their clothes. His eyes are at half-mast, watching the spill of his seed over Hannibal's waistcoat, his belt, his tie. Leaving a mark of his own.

He kisses Hannibal deeply, uses his teeth and tongue to show his adoration as Hannibal growls, and then Hannibal releases his cock, cups Will's neck with his sticky hand, prolongs the kiss until Will's lungs burn.

He pushes himself back and falls to his knees between Hannibal's legs, pawing gracelessly at his hips. He lifts his eyes when Hannibal tugs on his hair with a warning growl.

"Please," he whispers, swallowing harshly. He leans forward, licks at one of the sticky strings of his come clinging to Hannibal's belt. "Please. Let me."

Hannibal sighs, meets his eyes, something dark and fiercely proud in them. He smiles, and gives Will a nod, granting him permission to reciprocate. His hand, dirty, slides to Will's bruised shoulder and tightens hard enough to make Will wince.

Will unfastens his clothes, pulls his cock out and swallows him down with a hungry sound, taking Hannibal all the way in until his throat spasms and parts, his nose buried into Hannibal's come-soaked clothing. Hannibal hisses, tightening his hand in Will's hair, and Will moves his head quickly, fucking his throat on Hannibal's cock, slick, eager, messy.

Hannibal snarls when he comes, pulling Will's head down and forcing him to swallow it all. Will gasps when he's set free, licking over Hannibal's softening cock, breathless with relief and gratitude that Hannibal let him touch.

Hannibal bows forward, and pulls him up into a kiss. "You must be sure to be more careful, in the future," he says, and though his voice is quiet, there is a subtle edge of warning in it; though they are lovers, partners in all things, Hannibal is possessive of his belongings, and Will is his most highly-treasured possession. He does not take others abusing that possession lightly.

Will nods, swallows, and lets himself be kissed again. "I promise."


	27. Facials

"Get on your fucking knees."

There is a single moment, not of hesitation, but perhaps shock, for Hannibal is still trying to catch his breath from being thoroughly kissed and slammed against the hallway wall before the order comes, gritted out, snarled from behind Will's clenched teeth. But it is a moment of stillness nonetheless, and it's enough for Will to make an impatient noise, wrap his fingers in the longer hair at the top of Hannibal's head and jerk, savagely, stepping back just far enough for Hannibal to fall to his knees before Will crowds him close again.

Will's hands are large and wrap tight around his head, leaving Hannibal to the task of untucking his button-down – such an ugly green, Hannibal is quite glad to see it go – and unbuckle his belt, and part his slacks. Will is hard, the scent of him a barrage of thick musk like he's been hard all day, steadily leaking into the back of his underwear.

Hannibal's mouth waters.

Will snarls, releases with one hand to slam his fist against the wall, and bucks his hips forward, other hand tight in Hannibal's hair, tugging as Hannibal pushes his slacks and underwear down to the tops of his thighs, the innards of his underwear stained.

Will's cock juts out, thick and hard and a deep blush-red, and Hannibal moans softly, takes him in hand and slides the ring of his fingers up, his eyes on Will as Will tips his head back, jaw clenched and neck flexing as he swallows. His hands tug on Hannibal's hair and Hannibal allows himself to be guided, lips parting not-slack, so Will has to force his way between Hannibal's teeth.

Will moans, loudly, tipping forward so the shadow of his bright eyes pierces Hannibal fiercely. He is absolute, trapping Hannibal against the wall – Hannibal rears up to his toes, spreads his knees to allow Will closer, lets him cup his nape and fuck forward until his cockhead hits the back of Hannibal's throat.

Hannibal's mouth floods with saliva, his nose full of the scent of Will as Will starts a rhythm, cavalier and driven, staring down at Hannibal as he grips his hair and fucks his throat. Hannibal slackens his jaw, his heart hammering, blood rushing in his ears so it almost drowns out the sound of Will's harsh grunts, his snarls.

Almost.

" _Fuck_ ," Will hisses, and Hannibal has no idea what he's been thinking about all day but he sincerely hopes it's something repeatable, for there is something delightfully animal about the way Will is looking at him. "Fuck, yeah, stay – stay right where you are. Wanna come all over that pretty face."

Hannibal's nostrils flare, he moans, and nods.

" _Fuck_." Will pulls out abruptly, wraps a hand around his cock and pulls the final few strokes. The first shot lands on Hannibal's parted lips, and his tongue snakes out to lick his lower one clean. The second one paints his cheek, and then he closes his eyes, feels Will smear his cockhead against Hannibal's cheek, spreading each new, thick spurt until his jaw is coated. The scent of Will is overwhelming and Hannibal breathes in deeply, ravenous for him.

The last few drips land on his lips, Will pushing his softening cock into Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal sucks greedily, wanting the taste of Will on his tongue, and Will's hand is warm, sliding from his hair to his cheek, thumb dragging through a thick clump of come and lifting to his mouth to suck clean.

Will breathes out, and steps back, pulling his clothes back into place, though he leaves his shirt untucked. He helps Hannibal to his feet and cups his face, uncaring for the mess. He kisses, practically purring, and licks along Hannibal's jaw.

Hannibal smiles. "What's gotten into you?"

Will grins in reply. "Lectured on you today," he replies, proud and warm and low. "The man with the tree and flowers in his chest. I had forgotten how beautiful it was, and seeing it again was…invigorating."

Hannibal lets out a weak, wanton sound, and tilts his head so Will can lick his cheek clean. "If you have forgotten him, perhaps the FBI have as well."

Will pulls back, licks his lips clean, still smiling. His eyes shine. "I think you might be right," he purrs, and grabs Hannibal, nuzzles, smears his come between the bridges of their noses, kisses and kisses and _kisses_. "Take me with you?"

Hannibal shivers, and wraps a hand in Will's hair. "Nothing would please me more."

Will allows Hannibal his kiss, his bite, and then he pulls back and swipes his thumb through the quick-drying mess still clinging to Hannibal's jaw. "Good," he murmurs, and licks his fingers clean.


	28. Fisting

"That's it, baby, just stay still. Doin' so good." Will's eyes are wide, his attention rapt on the wide stretch of Hannibal's rim around his knuckles. He can't stop staring, can't stop petting down Hannibal's trembling flank with his free hand as he carefully flexes his fingers, curls his knuckles just slightly to test the clamp of his abused, raw-hot muscle around his fingers.

His mouth is slack, drawling-low, unable to hold onto the masked accent he spent so long trying to perfect so he didn't sound like an uneducated hick when lecturing in the hallowed FBI halls. Now, though, in this place of worship, with Hannibal in his bed, on his hands and knees and panting heavy-boned and red-cheeked to their pillows, he is ascension. He is hollow and holy and Hannibal is knelt before his altar, prostrate and open for him.

He grabs blindly for the bottle of lube, opens and drizzles a heavy amount of slick along the backs of his knuckles, and draws his fingers back, thumb to the soft slip of skin between his ass and balls. Hannibal tightens up for him, his thighs trembling, golden-skinned, fuck he's beautiful, power in every line of him and yet here, in their bed, he trembles.

Will kneels closer, leans down and licks across the back of his hand, up across Hannibal's stretched rim just to see him flex and quiver. He smiles, and kisses his tailbone, and pushes in with his last knuckles. Hannibal, always the glutton, swallows him ravenously and Will growls at the feeling of Hannibal's hot, slick body clenching up around him.

"Almost there," he breathes, grabs Hannibal's thigh and holds tight. Leans up, presses, tucks his thumb – this is the part where he had to stop, this is where he couldn't go on, but Hannibal is hard and dripping, his breaths heavy but even, his body arches, aches, and Will gasps as he manages to work his thumb in, and then the widest part of his hand, and then -.

And _then_.

Hannibal's ass tightens up around his wrist, squeezing so, so hard, and Will cannot do anything but stare and breathe, soak in Hannibal's red flesh and his growling whines and he's panting, spine flexing, and -.

"Are you going to come?" Will breathes.

Hannibal nods, bows his head, forehead swiping the pillow. His nails dig in and he says, very quietly, "Yes."

Will lets out a heavy breath, grits his teeth and tightens his nails in Hannibal's thigh, and slowly, carefully twists his buried hand, forming a spear-like point with his hand and dragging the knuckle of his thumb against Hannibal's prostate. It takes only that touch before Hannibal goes very, very still, locking up around him, and one of his hands reaches for his cock, stroking tight and quick. His knees want to pull in but Will forces them to stay still, forces him not to buck or tremble too harshly. His hand is buried in Hannibal, suffocated, crushed to tenderness under the heavy clamp of him.

He is sweating, blushing, split apart, and so beautiful.

When his spasms lessen, Will gingerly eases his hand out and wipes it on the towel Hannibal insisted he bring to bed and Will realizes the wisdom of it only then – his hand is dripping-wet and Hannibal is soaked and Will dries his hand and then touches him, because if he lives a single second longer without Hannibal's trembling body beneath him he might go insane.

He kisses Hannibal's spine, breathing as heavily as he is, counting the seconds until their exhales line up and Hannibal growls, plants both elbows on the bed, sags and yet lifts so that all of his back is touching Will's chest.

"That was beautiful," Will whispers, nose to his neck, arms wrapped tight around Hannibal's quick-expanding ribs. "I can't believe you did that for me." Because Will couldn't – something he has since recovered from, but his own failure just highlights Hannibal's capability, and Will is in awe. He has been struck from his throne and now Hannibal is behind the altar and Will wants to give him everything.

Hannibal finally breathes out, rolls to his back and Will prowls over him, covers him and kisses him deeply, eyes closed, soaking in Hannibal's warmth. Hannibal paws at him gracelessly, his mouth slack. Will parts from him to gain air, bows his head and rests his cheek on his heart.

"Can I do anything for you?" he whispers.

Hannibal hums, a non-committal sound, and pets through Will's hair. "Not right now, darling," he says, and he sounds fucked-out, exhausted, and Will smiles to himself and kisses his chest. "Just lay with me here a while."

Will nods, and flattens himself to Hannibal's flank, wrapping himself around Hannibal. He tugs on one of the blankets and pulls it up to shield Hannibal's naked body from the cool air, and Hannibal turns into him, nose in Will's hair, and they settle down to rest.


	29. Food Play

"Ah, shit! What the Hell?" Will turns his head, glaring when Hannibal meets his eyes, smiles, and leans in to lick the wayward splash of hot ham drippings from his forearm, bared from beneath rolled-up sleeves. It got some good air, and that is one hundred percent Hannibal's fault, as he'd taken the roast out and placed it down on the counter loud and hard enough to make Will jump.

Hannibal raises his arm, licks down the sensitive innards of his forearm from wrist to elbow, and Will shivers, and swats him away with a playful smile. "How do I taste?"

"Wonderful," Hannibal purrs, and beside the roasting dish there is a bowl of mashed potatoes – Will's responsibility, and Will can see his intention immediately as though Hannibal had given him a step by step plan, and yet he does nothing to stop Hannibal reaching in, scooping some onto his finger, and smearing it across Will's neck. It's a sharp heat that quickly fades, and Will growls when Hannibal leans in and licks that away, too.

"You know, if you need to sample the food, there are simpler ways to do it," he mutters, flushing deeply when Hannibal lets out a pleased hum, pressing close to his flank. Hannibal laughs against his neck, licks over Will's thundering pulse, and dips his fingers in the drippings around the meat. He gets them wet and Will's eyes widen, and he fixes Hannibal with a warning look.

"Don't you dare -." He stops as Hannibal grabs him by the hair, tilts his head up, and smears it along Will's neck, his tongue following quickly after. Will gasps, and Hannibal uses the moment to quick advantage, sliding his fingers along Will's tongue. He tastes like the meat, his fingers warm and very salty – and, of course, delicious. Will bites him on principle and Hannibal laughs.

"It's for the sake of experimentation, my love," Hannibal purrs, and kisses Will's cheek, asking silently for forgiveness and Will releases his fingers, huffing. "The introduction of such sweet flesh as yours is sure to alter the flavor." He tugs on Will's hair. "And enhance it."

Will rolls his eyes. "Yes, but our guests will not be eating this dinner off _me_."

"Now there's an idea."

"Hannibal, I don't want to hit you with this potato masher, but I swear to God I will if you don't behave."

Hannibal laughs, and wraps his fingers in Will's hair again, petting him until he shivers, his shoulders falling lax. Big mistake. Hannibal uses his pliancy, lunges like a snake for a mouse, and Will drops the masher into the bowl and gasps as Hannibal turns him and plants him against the counter, hands on either side of his hips.

"And now?" he growls, nose brushing Will's, his eyes dark.

Will licks his lips, and can still taste Hannibal on them. "Now you're just being deliberately distracting," he replies. Hannibal merely grins at him, the Cheshire cat, puffed up and pleased. But Will can play this game too; "If you insist on continuing, at least taste-test something important."

"Oh? And what's that?"

Will smiles. "Dessert."

Hannibal's smile widens, and his hands flex on Will's hips. "The guests' dessert, or mine?"

Will hums, and lifts his chin. "Taster's choice, I suppose."

Hannibal's eyes flash. "You are quite the vixen, my love," he breathes, and Will smiles, and shivers when Hannibal releases one of his hips, reaches back and finds the smaller bowl, tucked away, filled with the syrupy filling for an apple pie. There will be three in total, but this one will bake the longest, and was made first. Will's nostrils flare, smelling the cinnamon and sugar in the filling, and Hannibal growls, lifts his fingers and brushes them across Will's parted lips, smearing the syrup. Then, he leans in, and tastes.

Will moans, parts his lips further, lets Hannibal's tongue in, lets his teeth bite down. His hands wrap around Hannibal's shoulders and his thighs spread and Hannibal growls, kisses him with passion and hunger until Will is panting and flushed warmly to his chest.

Then, Hannibal pulls back, and licks his fingers clean.

Will swallows, his mouth tender and warm. "Do I make it taste better?"

"Always," Hannibal replies, smiling. "I shall have to save some for later."

"…Later," Will murmurs. And Hannibal's smile is wolfish.

 _Oh_.

Will clears his throat, his blush deepening, and Hannibal leans in for one last taste before he parts from Will, returning his attention to the meat, and though Will knows they don't have that kind of time and it's important not to ruin dinner, he has to put a dedicated amount of willpower into not grabbing Hannibal by the hair and ordering him to his knees right then.

"You're gonna pay for that," is all he says instead.

Hannibal grins, and covers the roast, putting it back in the oven. "I certainly hope so."


	30. Sadomasochism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> caning + begging + crying!Will :D  
> .......I might be projecting a little I AM NOT SORRY.

Everything has been brought to a sharp ache. Will's back, ass, and thighs are a smattering of welts, of bruises, of sucking kisses that blush red and purple around the imprints of Hannibal's teeth. He is trembling, face-down on his elbows, his hips braced along a pillowed stool, his ankles tied to the bottom bedposts so Hannibal has all the room to beat him raw.

He whimpers, trembling when Hannibal swings the flogger again – the heavy one, that bruises and sends pain ricocheting to his shoulders. It comes down on his back in a rain of blows and he flinches, shuddering, sweating, a sharp cry bitten back behind clenched teeth.

Then, nothing, and Will is so close, his cock rutting into the pillow but it's not enough – he needs, he needs -.

Hannibal hums, his large hand soothing down Will's back and Will shivers, whines, arching up into it. Hannibal wraps his fingers around the ring end of the plug buried inside him, presses and twists it and Will cries out.

"You are so beautiful, Will," Hannibal breathes, his voice low and ragged. Will tries to lift his head, but all he manages is a roll of his shaking shoulders and another breathless cry. "And you're doing so well." He pulls the plug back, until the bulbous end of it stretches Will's rim wide, before he plunges back in and Will tenses, tightens, his thighs shaking. He's so _close_.

His fists clench and he collapses to his chest, arching up over the stool, biting his fist as Hannibal gives him a few more indelicate thrusts of the plug, and then he lets go, and pinches one of the welts on Will's ass. Will shivers, sobbing, tears leaking out from beneath his closed eyelids.

"I'm going to use one more item," Hannibal tells him. Will hears it through a fog, senses Hannibal moving away but can't bear to lift his head and see. "It's a new one, so you must tell me immediately if you don't like it."

Will nods, knowing Hannibal is looking for it. He can feel the change in the air, hears a soft whistle of something sharp and thin moving through it.

Hannibal makes a soft, thoughtful sound, and then Will gasps as Hannibal straddles his ass, putting pressure on the plug and driving it in deep. The feeling of his clothes dragging against Will's fire-hot skin makes him whimper and buck up, seeking friction.

The first strike is on his upturned soles, and Will stiffens, sags, and cries out sharply. It's a cane, he registers this absently, right before the second hit over the delicate arch of his left foot. His toes curl and his legs jerk, trying to flee the sensation, and Hannibal growls and reaches forward, holding his left ankle in place and securing a few more hard swats to the exposed skin. It makes Will cry, such sudden and extreme pain lancing up his legs, to where Hannibal is sitting on him, and then the cane moves up his leg, swatting at his calf, behind his knee, up to his bruised thighs.

He bites his fist, sobbing openly as Hannibal beats him. It hurts, _God_ it hurts, the burn of it following swiftly, the way Hannibal is gripping him means he can't wriggle or move away. He screams when Hannibal moves to his other foot, jerks and flinches hard enough that Hannibal pauses.

He straightens, and smooths his hand up Will's trembling thighs, dips between his legs and cups his aching balls from behind. "Color?" he murmurs.

Will whimpers, parts his teeth from his knuckles, and says, "Yellow."

Hannibal stands immediately, but that isn't what Will wants. He moans, shakes his head vehemently, and whines. "No, no, please. Come back, I -."

Then Hannibal is there, cupping his face and lifting his head. Will's eyes can't focus, they're too blurry with tears, and he blinks at Hannibal's silhouette. The cane is laid across his thighs. "What do you need, darling?" he murmurs, his forehead touching Will's.

Will sobs, shuddering, and shows his teeth. "I need you," he gasps, grabbing blindly at Hannibal's hand, digging in with nails. "Please. Fuck me. Need you inside me."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him chastely, before he stands and sets the cane to one side. "A need I am happy to oblige," he purrs, and he goes to Will's ankles, untying them. Will's knees bend and he sags over the stool, his elbows giving out as he collapses to the floor. Hannibal pushes at the inside of his injured thighs. "Spread your legs for me, darling."

Will whimpers, his feet aching terribly from the rush of blood thanks to gravity. The stool is narrow, wide enough to make it a challenge, but small enough that he manages to press his thighs to either side of it, gripping the edges tightly, his toes bent back against the floor. Hannibal stands behind him and Will sobs at the sound of him unbuckling his belt and parting his suit pants.

"Please," he whispers, barely an exhale. "Please, please…"

Hannibal's fingers wrap around the ring at the end of the plug again, he tugs it with a soft grunt and pulls it free, and Will moans, so empty, so achingly sore, he needs, he _needs_ – and then Hannibal is there, big hands spreading him wide, his swollen cockhead pushing against Will's clenching rim. He shoves inside with one thrust, grunting loudly, and the pressure on his whipped ass makes Will scream, the drag of Hannibal's clothes, the bite of his belt buckle against the welts on his thighs makes him arch and moan sweetly, pitifully, desperate for Hannibal to mount him.

" _God_ , yes," he gasps, and plants his hands on the floor, pushing back as Hannibal begins to thrust. "Fuck, yes, please, harder, _harder_." Hannibal snarls behind him, bows over him and bites Will's back, raising a new welt, and Will tosses his head back, the room blurred and shadowed from his tears. He grits his teeth. "You feel so fucking good, _please_ , please -."

Hannibal digs his nails into Will's ass, drags them down to his spread thighs where the new marks from the cane are burning, bites again, and Will moans, dropping his head, forehead to the floor, a burn there too, his palms ragged against the carpet's edge. He is so tight, he can feel how much force Hannibal has to put into his thrusts to get Will deep, where they both need it.

"Come inside me," he begs, the words almost formless, almost soundless. But Hannibal hears them, and snarls eagerly. "Please, fill me up, please, _God_ , Hannibal, please, fuck me -."

Hannibal growls, and one of his hands flies up to cup Will's throat, squeezing tightly. He forces Will to rear up, braced and helpless over the stool, the edges of it digging into his thighs, his cock leaking into the pillow. Hannibal nips the upper ridge of his ear, makes a low, soft sound, bites his neck.

"Come for me, Will," he demands, and Will's stomach sinks in, his heart judder-stalls and then races. "Sweet boy, show me how good it feels when I fuck you."

Will whimpers, his spine tightening, fists clenching against the floor. He bows his head and Hannibal lets him, growls and tugs on Will's hair and presses deep, so deep, goes still and lets Will rut his hips back, seeking the friction of his clothes against Will's hypersensitive, aching skin.

"Oh God, oh _fuck_ -." And then he's coming, so strongly everything whites out. He screams with it, his entire body jerking and falling forward, off the stool and away from Hannibal as he trembles and bites his fists, sobbing into his hands.

Hannibal growls, and kicks the stool away and it falls with a clatter to one side. He lunges for Will, hauls him up to his knees and slams back inside with enough force that Will whimpers.

"Running away from me, darling?" Hannibal demands. He forces Will to his belly, fucks him brutally with teeth and nails and Will's spasming muscles are so tight, the slick of him not enough to make it easy. "And you were behaving so well. Perhaps I should deny you for trying to get away."

Will shakes his head, gasps, turns to try and meet Hannibal's eyes but he can't. There's no strength left in his neck, nothing in him but a pile of shivering, sweat-soaked flesh.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and he knows Hannibal isn't really angry but the thought of being denied makes him tense up, makes his hindbrain panic at the thought of his mate, his monster, leaving him. He reaches back, claws at Hannibal's hair, down to his nape, and moans when Hannibal bites his bruised shoulder hard enough to make him bleed. "Please, please, I'm -. I'll do anything, I'm yours, I'm -."

"Yes," Hannibal growls, and cups Will's throat, pulls him tight to Hannibal's chest and kisses his ear. "You are."

He goes still, then, his hips twitching as he comes and Will moans in relief, sagging into Hannibal's bruising hold. Everything hurts and everything is relief and Will feels like he's floating, dragged high up the side of a cliff and left to gaze out to the tumultuous ocean below it. Hannibal anchors him and he wants to sink, wants to drown.

Hannibal pulls out, then, leaves Will a slick mess of come and sweat, and rolls him onto his back. Will whimpers, flinching when his abused skin meets the rough, unforgiving surface, but then Hannibal is there and Will paws at him, mute and desperate. He wraps his thighs around Hannibal's hips, arches up even though it hurts, and kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him, until he can't breathe anything except the air Hannibal gives.

Hannibal shivers, growling, and pets through Will's hair, noses at him gently as Will shivers and, piece by piece, parts of him relax. "You are beautiful," he whispers, and kisses Will's tear-stained cheek, tasting him. One of his hands flatten over Will's rib, over his first scar. The second, between his thighs, over the other one.

Will shakes, and shows his neck and spreads his legs, offering all of himself up. Hannibal growls, pleased to the bone, and kisses him sweetly. He is warm, the solid weight of him soothing even as Will aches, and he kisses back and cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair, moaning in relief when his hands remain gentle on Will's sensitive skin.

Hannibal smiles at him, soft with adoration, as he pets Will and nuzzles him and lets Will breathe and shake through the comedown. He reaches for the pillow, places it beside Will's hips, and pulls back, gently rolling him into place across it. Will swallows, and makes a soft sound in question.

"Hush, my love," Hannibal says, and kisses his hair, and then Will gasps as he feels the plug at his rim again, pushed through lax muscles and sitting inside. "After such a display as that, I cannot simply let you rest. I will have you again, many times, before the night is through."

Will shivers, clenching up tightly, and spreads his thighs when Hannibal settles between them, on his knees. It feels like hunger – he has been allowed a taste of relief, but now he aches, and he wants. Hannibal always knows when he wants.

"Please," he sighs, and then cries out when Hannibal laughs, and one of his hands comes down, sharply, over Will's bruised ass. He tightens around the plug and moans, too sensitive, too raw, but arching for it all the same.

"Don't worry, darling, I intend to see you fully satisfied."


	31. Bath Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some soft aftercare + bath sex + liberal praise/devotion :D

On New Year's Eve, they do not host a party. They will end the old year and begin the new one together, only together, bathed in soft firelight and basking in each other's heat, shared intimacy, utterly content, for in each other they are completed, and not made whole, but expanded like adding fortifications to a grand castle. Together, they are stronger, and fiercer, and much more devastating in their stark, wild beauty.

Will is utterly enchanting, colored gold from the flare of candlelight ringing their bathroom sink, the rest of the room dark and sticky-warm with humidity. A bath, one of their traditions, to rest Will's feet and rest his mind. For within the shadows, there is only Hannibal, a monster with sharp teeth and yet so-gentle hands when they touch his beloved mate.

Will gasps against Hannibal's neck, his hands wrapped tight around the edges of the tub, his cock a thick, warm weight in Hannibal's hand as he strokes Will languidly through the water. Hannibal is buried inside him, just where he belongs, and the sweet roll of Will's hips and the tight clench of him when Hannibal finds a sensitive spot is absolutely exquisite.

The water sloshes around them as Will shivers, rutting his hips down onto Hannibal's cock, then up into his fist. He groans, trembling, one hand sliding from the edge of the tub to wrap around Hannibal's hand as well, easing him into a slow, tight squeeze that makes Will's toes curl.

Hannibal smiles, and ducks his head down so he can kiss Will's forehead, then his gasping mouth when Will lifts his head, seeking. Their kiss is as slow and sweet as the rest of it, edged with teeth when Will bares his, hissing in pleasure, his brow creasing as Hannibal's cock twitches at the sound of his moan.

Hannibal smiles. "It's almost midnight, my love," he whispers. Will's lashes flutter, open, and he gazes at Hannibal with dark eyes.

He swallows, and squeezes his fingers around Hannibal's. "I can't wait," he says, and leans in for another kiss. Hannibal laughs, softly, but allows it, free hand cupping Will's nape, dripping with warm water. There is something wonderful about having Will like this, soaked and trembling, clean and yet sinfully dirty. It is a fitting metaphor, he thinks, that even when lax, and utterly content, they still bite, are driven by a hunger that goes deeper than bone.

Will kisses him, again, again, and moans when Hannibal's cock twitches, his hips jerk up in answer, seeking to penetrate deeper. " _Fuck_ ," he gasps, and rests his head back on Hannibal's shoulder, blinking up at the shadow-obscured ceiling. He smiles, toothy and wide, and closes his eyes. He lets Hannibal's hand go and, instead, runs it up Hannibal's thigh, digs in with nails. "It feels so good when you touch me."

"And you, darling, when you touch me," Hannibal breathes. He quickens his hand, just a little, enough to make Will gasp and arch. "When I am without you, I feel an ache unlike anything else. The closer I get, the sharper it becomes, until I can finally feel you against me. Until I can touch you, and taste you, in whatever way you allow."

"'Allow'," Will parrots with an amused huff. "More like need."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his ear, nuzzles the damp curl of his hair. He rolls his hips, pushing against Will's weight and Will gasps, stiffening, a thick drop of white precum eked from his cock and mixing with the water.

"My need for you is ravenous, Will," Hannibal purrs, watches how Will's neck and upper arms break out in goosebumps from the proximity of his voice, the touch of his teeth. "Unbearable, insatiable." Will shivers, moaning softly as Hannibal quickens his hand. "Gluttonous."

His other hand slides to Will's thigh, cradling him close and tight, and flattens over the 'Maniškis' carved there.

"I adore you completely," he breathes, and Will swallows harshly, a soft whine spilling from his parted lips as Hannibal rolls his hips again, presses deep, shuddering when Will tightens around him. "And just as you are mine, I am yours, in my entirety."

" _Hannibal_." Will goes still, whimpering, and turns his face into Hannibal's neck as he trembles and comes, dirtying the water and soaking Hannibal's hand. He goes unbearably tight around Hannibal's cock and Hannibal growls, cups Will's thighs and lifts him just enough that he can thrust, bury himself deep in Will. He follows soon after and they collapse together, sagging in the warm water, breathless and spent.

Will grits his teeth, pushes himself up so Hannibal slides out of him, and turns in his arms, pressing Hannibal's legs together so he can straddle his thighs. He cups Hannibal's neck with warm, wet hands, and kisses him, before resting their foreheads together.

"I love you," he whispers.

Hannibal smiles, and then Will's watch beeps from the counter, signaling the new hour, and the new year.

"I love you, mylimasis," he replies, and loves the fact that it's the first thing he says in this new day. Though he doesn't believe the turn of the year holds any significance in the grand scheme of things, before them lies another year of bliss, of endless opportunities and pleasures, and he cannot think of a single person he would possibly share it with.

Will kisses him again. "Happy New Year, Hannibal," he breathes, and smiles wide.

Hannibal wraps his arms tight around Will, cradles him close, and leans up for another kiss. "Happy New Year, Will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have two hours in my timezone, but I want to wish you all a wonderful New Year. May it be filled with joys and pleasures the likes of which you have never experienced before, and I hope all of you are safe, happy, and loved.
> 
> See you in the next fic, darlings <3


End file.
